


The Last Battle of Ice and Fire

by untouchablerave



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Incest, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchablerave/pseuds/untouchablerave
Summary: “Where is Caspian?” Miraz asked, cutting him off, wasting no time at all, as if Caspian could be resurrected from the dead at any moment.Peter gulped. “Your Majesty -,”“Has he sent word to you?”“No,” said Peter, shaking his head. “Your Majesty, Caspian is dead. He died at the battle.”“Don’t lie to me!”“I’m not, your Majesty… I…” Peter trailed off. “Do you think he could be alive?” he asked tentatively, not sure what would set Miraz off next.“I have reason to believe he might be,” replied Miraz.
Relationships: Caspian/Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie/Susan Pevensie
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Narnia/GOT crossover. It’s obviously AU, where all the Narnia characters from across the seven books are in Narnia. I have reimagined what it might be like if Narnia operated within the Game of Thrones world, with the politics and dynamics. Narnia is Movie-Verse as I think it lends itself better to the format and obviously, the characters who haven’t been in the movies are book-verse/my interpretation. GOT is TV-Verse. Some characters may seem OOC as I’ve tried to entwine them with GOT counterparts and vice versa. 
> 
> These are as follows:  
> Peter/Ned/Robb, Susan/Sansa/Catelyn, Edmund/Jon, Lucy/Arya, Caspian/Daenerys, Miraz/Cersei/Robert, Eustace/Theon
> 
> The story follows the TV-GOT storyline with the majority of the dialogue and scene setups. I may have changed some parts to fit with the Narnia characters or to make the small changes I’ve made throughout the story make sense as we go along, particularly in the final chapters. The ending will be slightly different from what happens in Season 8, mainly because I need it to make sense with the Narnia characters but also because some Narnia characters don’t match up with some GOT characters that are in Season 8. For example, we don’t have Bran. I’ve tried to stay true to both GOT and Narnia, but some characters will feel OOC. This is down to the blending of the two stories. Some storylines have been slowed down or pushed forward as I’ve cut some storylines/characters out from the original GOT TV cannon.

PART ONE

**Chapter 1**

_On the Moors Outside Winterfell_

Peter Pevensie stood upon a grassy hilltop on the moors of his land, looking out into the distance. His blonde hair whipped around in the breeze as his eyes gazed upon the landscape of his castle, Winterfell, in the distance. It was named so because Winter Fell when the White Witch’s reign was vanquished at the Battle of Beruna. Peter’s hand was on the hilt of his sword Rhindon, which had done the deed itself, slaying the White Witch and restoring Narnia from her vengeful winter.

Peter was ready and waiting to do what needed to be done, admiring the Narnian steel that would have glinted in the sunlight had there been any. The North was not renowned for sun, mainly harsh winds, and cloud, but everyone who lived in the North liked it that way. There was a hardness to the North, and its inhabitants revelled in the discomfort of Southerners who came and suffered. Occasionally, when snowflakes fell, the Pevensies tensed up, wondering if the White Witch had returned. But in the years since their victory, they knew they could relax. For once it was only just snow.

Behind Peter stood Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace, waiting next to their company of horses and guards that had come with them from the castle. They were dressed in their heavy furs and thick boots.

Susan turned to the guards waiting next to them. “Go,” she said, simply. “The prisoner is a deserter. We should expect him to try and desert again today.”

“Yes, my lady,” replied one of the guards with a small bow and ushered his men to support the arrival of the prisoner, who had arrived tied to his saddle.

“Don’t look away,” Susan said to Lucy, leaning over to her sister who stood next to her. “Peter will know if you do.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Do you think this is the first beheading I’ve seen?” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’ve nearly taken Eustace’s head off a thousand times during practice.”

Eustace’s face crept closer to Lucy’s. “I’ll have my revenge,” he hissed into his cousin’s ear.

“Shh!” Edmund hushed, digging his elbow into Eustace’s ribs. “We still need to show some respect, even if he is a deserter.” Edmund could feel his heartbeat quickening, the ever-growing tightness around his chest that he longed to be rid of. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Are you going to miss this?” Eustace asked, leaning over to Edmund, and muttering in his ear.

“Beheadings, no. The North, yes,” replied Edmund honestly, keeping his eyes on Peter, who swagged over to where the prisoner was being helped down from his horse.

“Well, you’re about to go as far north as you can get,” said Eustace with a snort. Susan shot them both a deathly glare, and they both knew it imperative that they shut up immediately. 

The guardsmen of Winterfell, who served Peter and his family with honour and loyalty, above all else, brought forward the deserter, who, for once, did not struggle in their grips. He was brought before Peter who looked down at him, full of disappointment.

Lucy eyed him suspiciously. “Perhaps he’s heard of Peter’s quick, clean deaths?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

The boy looked up at Peter, who stood over him like a giant and gulped. “I know I’m a deserter,” he said, his voice shaking violently. “I know I broke my oath, and I should have gone back to The Wall but…” he trailed off, looking as though he was about to vomit. “I saw what I saw…”

“What did you see?” asked Peter, curtly, betraying no emotion on his face.

“Your grace,” the boy cried. “I don’t have the words to tell you.”

Peter nodded to the guardsmen and they pushed the boy down, so he knelt before the bloodstained Ironwood stump, positioning his head the groove of the wood where many heads had laid and been severed from their necks. 

Peter took off his gloves and handed them to the guard next to him. He unsheathed his sword with long, clear, _shing_ sound. He pressed the tip into the ground and bowed his head. “In the name of Miraz, of the House Telmarine, first of his name, King of Narnia and the Lone Islands, Protector of the Realm. I, Peter, of the House Pevensie, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of Ettinsmoor and the Wild Lands of The North, sentence you to die.” Peter stepped back, wielding his sword high into the air, and took one long, slick swipe at the boy’s head, which fell to the ground with a thud. It was done. Peter handed Rhindon over to the guard to be cleaned and walked over to the rest of his family.

He forced a weak smile towards them, and put his arm around Susan, drawing her body close to him. He kissed the top of her head.

“Well done,” she muttered into his chest. “I know you don’t like doing it. You’re always so brave.”

“He who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Peter replied. He said it enough to justify his actions that it was almost becoming a catchphrase.

“Shall we go back to the castle for a bit of normality?” asked Susan, with a smile.

“I saw your stitching this morning, Susan. Fine work as always,” Peter said, letting her go.

“Thank you,” Susan replied.

“And what of Lucy’s stitching, Peter?” Eustace teased. Lucy responded by punching him in the stomach.

“Enough,” said Peter, simply. “Besides, Lucy is overtaking Susan in becoming the finest archer in Winterfell.” He looked to all of them, as if taking in the moment, a gentle smile appearing on his face. This was his family, his House, his legacy. He was so proud of them all. “We won’t argue,” said Peter. “Not before your brother leaves.” Peter walked forward and laid a hand on Edmund’s shoulder affectionately.

“I don’t think you should go, Ed,” Lucy muttered. “Not if…” her eyes darted to the headless body that was being hauled onto a cart.

“Lucy,” Peter warned. “It is a great honour to serve as a member of the Night’s Watch.”

“But if it’s true what he said.”

“A madman sees what he sees,” Peter replied in such a tone that Lucy dared not continue, and knew the matter was closed.

Far in the distance, the sound of hooves echoed through the muddy moors. The group looked towards the sound, their ears pricking up. Another guardsman from Winterfell, on his horse, galloped closer to the group. “Your grace,” he called, swinging his leg over the back of the mare, hopping down, and bowing immediately before Peter. “There has been a raven from Cair Paravel.”

Silence fell between the siblings, eyes darting, and breaths held. The fewer ravens they got from Cair Paravel, the better. Peter stepped forward, taking the scroll from the hands of the guard and looking down at the seal. It was the Royal seal, as the guard had suspected. Peter thumbed it open and unravelled it, reading it over a few times before turning to his family. “The King Miraz wishes to bestow his presence upon Winterfell,” said Peter, handing the scroll to Susan. Lucy, Eustace and Edmund read it from over her shoulder.

Their collective stomachs dropped. Peter drew a breath, but only his siblings could tell of the weight upon his shoulders. “Very well,” said Peter, turning back to the guard. “We are blessed indeed. Ride on ahead and make arrangements. Tell Mrs Macready that we require extra men in the hunting party.”

The guardsman bowed again and hurried on his way. Scrambling up onto his saddle and bolting into the dense fog that was seeping over the hills. Winterfell that stood far off in the distance was starting to become hazy.

Peter turned back to the group but gave nothing away. “We should go,” Peter announced. “We have much to prepare.” A guard brought forward Peter’s horse with a bow. Everyone else busied themselves with mounting their trusty steeds, adjusting their cloaks and swords to sit comfortably. Peter climbed up and inched his mare forward, forming the start of their party. The guardsmen followed suit, showing upmost obedience to their leader.

“To Winterfell!” Peter cried to them all and set off at a trot.

*

As they approached nearer to the castle, the landscape became dense woodland that protected Winterfell from everyone, everything and even the harshest of weathers. The trees became thicker, with large knotted, twisted roots that were woven through the packed earth. The party kept to the path, which wasn’t wide enough for them to ride two abreast, as usual, so had to ride in single file, praying no one would accost them on their way. The Pevensies were always chastised for their constant vigilance, but everyone knew, most of all Edmund, that even a friend could turn out to be a foe. If their trust were misplaced, it could be fatal.

Susan over her shoulder to Lucy, who rode behind her, and saw that her sister was searching the surroundings.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking,” replied Lucy.

“I know you’re looking,” scoffed Susan, rolling her eyes. “You’re not looking for Aslan, are you?” she asked.

Lucy laughed bitterly. “Don’t be silly. I don’t expect I’ll see him even if I dropped down dead. I’m making sure no one tries to sneak up on us.”

“Did the raven make you feel – on edge?”

“The King wants to come to Winterfell, you say? After he’s let us live in peace for so long now. Of course, I’m on edge,” replied Lucy, her eyes darting back and forth. “Quite honestly, I’m surprised our throats haven’t been slit in our sleep.”

Susan turned back around on her horse.

They were soon approaching Winterfell, and as they came to the edge of the wood, they came across a dead moose that was blocking their path. It wasn’t uncommon to find dead animals in the woods that had battled with other species. During the hunts, the guards often came back with extra bodies and pelts from already dead animals. The moose’s mangled body stretched the width of the route and the terrain either side contained sharp thorn bushes that would have harmed the horses and their shins. Eustace and Edmund jumped down from their stallions to inspect the moose, in place of Peter, just in case the moose wasn’t quite as dead as they thought.

Eustace prodded the moose with the tip of his sword. “Was it a mountain lion, do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know about the West, Eustace, but there are no mountain lions in these woods. Or any lions for that matter,” said Edmund, shaking his head. The boys looked around, listening for any approaching danger, trying to reach above the scent of blood that stained the mossy ground. Eventually, they heard a rustle in a nearby bush. “Look,” said Edmund pointing to where the leaves were shaking gently. He stepped forward and pushed the branches aside with the tip of his sword, Eustace raising his own in defence.

There was a shock of white that stood out amongst the brown and green of the foliage. “What is that?” Eustace asked.

Edmund bent down and reached into the bush, sacrificing his own hand, and pulled out a small white furry ball. “Direwolves?” replied Edmund, almost disbelieving his own eyesight. Another rolled out of the bush onto the ground before them, then another. “Direwolf pups, to be exact,” Edmund added. 

“Wolves?” Eustace gulped. “How many are there?”

“Direwolves,” Edmund corrected him. “There’s a difference. Four, I think.” He reached into the bush again to feel around for any more that were lurking.

“What’s going on?” Peter called from on top of his horse, his voice added to the dull chatter that had broken out amongst the company. Peter slid down from his saddled and strode over. “What on earth –?” he said, looking down at where Edmund was kneeling.

“We found some direwolves?” Eustace replied, still unsure exactly what a direwolf was.

“There are no direwolves south of The Wall,” said Peter, even though his eyes were gazing upon the very beasts themselves. “Not anymore.”

Edmund held two puppies in his hand, nodding for Eustace to grab the other two, and got up. “Susan! Lucy!” he called over Peter’s head.

The chattering in the group grew louder as people saw what Edmund was holding. Susan and Lucy dismounted and hurried forward. Lucy beat Susan to it, as she had dressed for the occasion in leather armour, whereas Susan was wearing a dress that she was making sure didn’t tear on the passing thorns.

“Direwolves?” Lucy exclaimed to Edmund, taking one from his grip and cradling it like a baby.

“How do you know about direwolves?” asked Susan, as she caught up with them. Edmund held a pup out to her which she reluctantly took into her arms, holding it out in front of her as if to be inspected first.

“I read about them in one of Doctor Cornelius’s old books,” replied Lucy, stroking her pup’s head. “Some direwolves can grow to be as large as a small horse. Imagine riding a direwolf into battle!”

Peter picked up one that Eustace had rescued by the scruff of its neck and held it up, his face contorted with shock and disbelief.

“They don’t belong down here,” said Edmund to Peter, eyeing the wolf his brother was holding. “You’re right, they shouldn’t be south of The Wall.”

“Can we keep them?” Lucy asked.

“No!” chorused Peter and Edmund together.

The sound of gentle giggles broke out over the silence. Everyone looked to Eustace who chuckled gleefully as the direwolf licked his face.

Lucy turned back to Peter. “They won’t survive without their mother anyway.”

“Better make it a quick death then,” he replied, turning on his heels, about to call a guard.

“NO!” cried Lucy, loud enough to scare the birds from the trees.

“Look,” Susan said, pointing towards the bush again. Another flash of white fluff crept out from under the leaves. “There’s another one.”

“There’s five all together then,” Lucy said. “One for each of us.”

“Would it really be so bad if we kept them?” Eustace asked, escaping the wolf’s tongue long enough to talk.

“I suppose it’s not the worst idea in the world. The direwolves are beasts of Old Narnia,” Edmund added. “The one we knew before -,”

“Don’t talk of it here,” Peter snapped, looking around. Everyone fell to silence, hoping that no one who was eavesdropping had heard. “Fine,” he sighed. “Keep them. Train and feed them yourselves, and if they die, don’t come crying to me. I won’t help you dig their graves.”

Peter stalked off with the direwolf still in his hand, giving it to a nearby guardsman held the pup precariously in his hands, and didn’t quite know what to do with it. 

“I’m going to call mine Cordelia,” said Lucy, giving her a little kiss on the head and walking back to her horse, followed by Susan who was already cooing the name _Beau_ at her wolf. Edmund bent down and picked up the small direwolf that was left, clearly the runt of the litter and tucked it into his shirt where it nestled down in the warmth of his chest and fell asleep.

“What will you call yours?” Eustace asked Edmund, nodding to the direwolf lump in his shirt. Eustace had wrapped his direwolf in a scarf to keep it warm. “I’m going to call mine Bramble.”

Edmund looked down at the small wolf that was breathing gently. “Snow,” he replied. “After all, if he’s coming with me to The Wall, he may as well fit in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glenstorm/Jorah

**Chapter 2**

_Winterfell_

Edmund stood on the battlements of Winterfell, looking south, keeping an eye on the horizon before him. He reached out in front of him and gripped the stone hard, feelings his knuckles turn white, willing himself to relax, but he couldn’t. He tried pressing his shoulders down, willing his heart to stop racing, but all he could think about was Caspian. Edmund ached for Caspian, wishing with every fibre of his being that he could be here, with them, alive again. He still couldn’t fathom Caspian’s absence, he didn’t want to, so when the thought of him squeezed his chest so tight he could scarcely breathe, Edmund opened his eyes.

As he did so, he thought he might have missed the arrival of King Miraz, but he need not have worried. A majestic fan fair grazed over the hills of Winterfell, slowly enough that Edmund could admire the trail of golden banners before he bolted to Peter’s side to let him know. He dashed along the battlements and down the spiral staircase, pushing past the washerwoman holding piles of freshly cleaned silks and wool.

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder. He hurried along the stone corridor, his steps echoing around him and pushed open the door to Peter’s study. “He’s here!” Edmund said, panting.

Peter just looked up to his guard and said, “let everyone know.” The guard nodded and left swiftly, and a few moments later the castle descended into panic, as though the arrival of Miraz could be as swift as a blade upon their necks.

“How can I help?” asked Edmund, studying Peter as he got up from his chair and reached for his thickest furs.

“Go to the courtyard to await his Majesty,” Peter replied, completely nonchalantly, but Edmund could see the twitch in his mouth and hear the way his voice cracked slightly, which meant Peter was nervous. No one else could tell, but Edmund could. Edmund did as he was bid and went to the courtyard, where he found Lucy, Susan and Eustace already gathering. Susan had chosen to braid her hair in a Southern fashion to please the King, whereas Lucy wore it down in stark defiance. Eustace fastened the pelt tighter underneath his chin, looking in the reflection of a nearby puddle and admiring his stubble. Edmund laughed as he joined rank with them, standing gallantly next to his family.

Peter, pristine and pressed, approached his family and then stopped. “What about the direwolves?” he asked, a sudden look of panic spreading across his face. The Pevensies looked between each other, their faces flushing red. Peter turned to a nearby guard and said, “make sure the direwolves are taken to the kennels. Make sure they’re fed and happy and won’t make any noise.”

“Yes, your grace,” the guard replied and hurried away.

“I don’t care if he sees my direwolf,” Lucy protested.

“You will when he slits its neck before he slits yours,” Peter replied, just as the gates of Winterfell opened and in rode Miraz on his horse, ahead of the convoy. He threw his leg over the back of the horse, climbed down the side of the steed and strode over to Peter, who took the lead, bowing respectfully to his monarch. Then he rose, and as Peter stood fully, everyone else rose too. King Miraz stood before Peter, his golden armour glowed in the sunlight as if he were on fire, contrasting with the dark wood and stone of Winterfell. The last time Peter and Miraz had been in close proximity to each other, it had been on the battlefield in the Shuddering Wood, and neither of them had been quite so cordial.

“Winterfell is yours, your Majesty,” said Peter, almost robotically.

“Lord Pevensie,” Miraz nodded, looking around. His nose looked turned up slightly at the clear differences between Cair Paravel, the grand castle in the capital, and Winterfell, the castle that the Pevensie’s had practically built with their own hands after the battle was lost.

“I welcome you to the home of House Pevensie,” said Peter. “I believe this is your first time to Winterfell, your Majesty?”

“It is,” nodded Miraz. “I wanted to see what you had done with the lands I granted you, Pevensie.”

“You were gracious, your Majesty. We have been able to build a fine fortress thanks to your generosity,” said Peter, with a gentle nod.

Miraz walked up and down the line, inspecting them all as if he were a commander inspecting his army. He stopped before Eustace who drew in a breath. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“I’m Eustace, from House Scrubb of Lantern Waste,” replied Eustace, not able to quite look Miraz in the eye.

“I trust you’ve met the rest of my family,” said Peter. His eyes gazed over Lucy who was glaring at Miraz as he passed her. Miraz stopped in front of Susan, his eyes dragging from her face to her feet and back up again, drinking in every part of her. “This is my sister, Susan,” Peter said with a gulp.

Miraz reached out and gripped her chin in his claw-like hands. Susan stifled a yelp. “A fine woman indeed, Lord Pevensie,” said Miraz. “My, you are a pretty one,” he hissed.

“You are too kind, your Majesty,” Susan muttered, meekly.

Peter’s eyes darted over to Queen Prunaprismia, who looked away as his eyes fell to her. A red flush rouged her cheeks and Peter wondered just how often Miraz’s gaze wandered to other men’s wives despite the new-born son that the Queen held in her arms. Peter looked back over to Miraz, and he could see Susan was squirming under his gaze. “My brother, Edmund, is soon to become a member of the Night’s Watch,” said Peter, breaking the uncomfortable moment between them all. Miraz, as hoped, stepped towards Edmund.

“It’s a great honour to serve you, your Majesty,” said Edmund, who had copied Peter’s tone and intonation when talking to the King.

“Your loyalty to the crown shan’t be forgotten,” replied Miraz. “And what condition are the Woods in, Eustace?”

Eustace gulped because he knew exactly what Miraz was truly asking of him, underneath all the formalities and titles, was there any trace of old Narnia to be exterminated? And if so, would follow through with it in the name of the King? Did King Harold, Eustace’s father, who had failed to make it to battle, truly fight for the Pevensie’s claim? Or did he subtly betray them in favour of a Telmarine ruler?

“Flourishing, your Majesty,” replied Eustace, turning to the King. “There are many rare plants and herbs in the area that have regrown after the battle. They’ve been tended to by my House.”

Miraz nodded. “Good. Do they sell to merchants?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” replied Eustace. “They have traded with the Lone Islands on occasion but usually with Calormen where the land is less fertile.”

“Hmmm,” Miraz pondered. “And the wood?”

“The wood is our greatest source of income,” said Eustace. “We –,”

“Yes, you mainly trade with the Lone Islands and Calormen,” replied Miraz, cutting him off. Eustace bit his lip.

“I’d like to congratulate you on the birth of your son, your Majesty,” said Peter, drawing Miraz’s attention back to him. “We must celebrate and drink to his health at the feast tonight.”

“Yes, we have been blessed,” Miraz looked back at his wife who forced a meek smile. “My fourth son is as healthy as the first.”

“I’m sure we all want an opportunity to bless your long and thriving lineage,” added Peter, gesturing for the King to follow him. “Please step this way, your Majesty. You must want to rest.” Miraz stepped forward beside Peter who showed him the way inside from the courtyard. The King’s guards and servants began to dismount their horses and mingled with the Winterfell household, wanting to know where to put trunks, where to find hay and beds for themselves for the night. As Peter guided Miraz inside, he looked over his shoulder at his family, and couldn’t help but see that Susan’s eyes were flooded with tears.

*

After a tour of the castle, King Miraz and Lord Peter retired to the study. The room was dark, with heavy drapes that kept out the cold and was lit by the large fireplace that crackled and flickered. The ornate carvings across the mantelpiece were inspired by the Golden Age of Narnia, dancing fauns and apple trees, and Peter prayed Miraz wouldn’t notice. It was enough to stand trial over, but as far as Peter was concerned the general consensus was that if they didn’t bother Miraz in the south, he wouldn’t bother the Pevensie’s in the north. Clearly, that unspoken treaty had been broken. 

Peter sat at his desk, gesturing for Miraz to take the seat opposite which the King did. The legs of the chair grated against the hardwood floor and squeaked as Miraz drew the chair out, turning his nose up further at the differences between the castles. Peter agreed, although Winterfell was his home, his safe place, it was nothing compared to the rich tapestries and clean looking sandstone of the Cair Paravel, coupled with the grand throne room with the stained glass window that towered above them all. If Peter closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough, he could still feel the warmth of the sun that shone through.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. Cair Paravel was not theirs anymore, but Miraz’s. He had won it from them, taken their liberty and made them bend the knee, or take their lives. Peter had seen far too much bloodshed that day, lost too many friends, to succumb to the decision that Miraz might take his life as well.

“Wine for his Majesty?” asked Peter, gesturing to a small round table by the window that held a jug and goblets.

Miraz clicked his fingers to a guard and pointed at the jug. The guard poured a glass for Miraz, tasted it for poison, as was the custom for royalty, before handing it to him.

“I must say, it’s a great honour, your Majesty,” said Peter, as Miraz sipped from his wine. “Your arrival has been the talk of the castle ever since we heard.”

“Let us get the niceties out of the way, Lord Peter,” said Miraz, placing the cup down on the desk and leaning on the table, his fingers steepled. “There is an important matter I must discuss with you; in fact, it is the whole reason I came to Winterfell. Why else would I come to this godforsaken place? It’s just woods and mountains…” 

“Of course, your Majesty,” replied Peter, who sat back. “How can I help?”

“I am going to be honest with you,” said Miraz, averting his eyes for a moment. “And in doing so, I hope you will do the same for me.”

“Of course -,”

“Where is Caspian?” Miraz asked, cutting him off, wasting no time at all, as if Caspian could be resurrected from the dead at any moment.

Peter gulped. “Your Majesty -,”

“Has he sent word to you?”

“No,” said Peter, shaking his head. “Your Majesty, Caspian is dead. He died at the battle.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not, your Majesty… I…” Peter trailed off. “Do you think he could be alive?” he asked tentatively, not sure what would set Miraz off next.

“I have reason to believe he might be,” replied Miraz.

Peter shook his head, feeling his pulse quicken. “Can I ask how this is possible? How can Caspian be alive?”

Miraz laughed, sitting back in his chair. “I said I would be honest with you, Peter, I didn’t say I would reveal my secrets.” Peter laughed as well because he didn’t know what else to do. The Usurper King of Narnia was sat in his office proclaiming that the Rightful King, his nephew, was alive, when everyone in the kingdom knew Caspian to be dead. “I know you pledged fealty to me, Peter, on the Battlefield of the Shuddering Wood, but I’m going to need a little more… convincing. I need to know you’re not… living in the past.”

“I don’t believe for one second that Caspian is truly alive. I don’t. We were both there. We saw the bloodied bodies that had been massacred, there’s no way he could have survived that,” Peter insisted. “But tell me what I can do, your Majesty. What can I do to put your mind at rest?”

 _No, no more battles_ , Peter wanted to say. _I’m tired of fighting. I have been fighting all my life. I’ve fought and I’ve lost. I just want to live a happy, quiet life in the North with my family._

Miraz had a devilish glint in his eye, clearly thinking on Peter’s subservient words, revelling in the fact that he truly had the power over someone who had once rallied against him. “I have a son; you have a sister. We could join our houses,” Miraz finally said.

Peter thought on Miraz’s words for a moment and wanted to cry. If he had thought about it hard enough, he could actually feel the tears prickle at the back of his eyes. But he would not show weakness. Not to Miraz. _Please not Susan_ , he wanted to say, _she is my everything. She is my world. Anything but her._

“Your Majesty –,” Peter breathed out his words, hoping he would have enough strength not to faint. Susan’s face flashed through his mind, making him feel weaker. How could he tell her? How could he break the news to her? “Your Majesty, it is a great honour what you ask of us –,”

“I should think it is,” replied Miraz. “Your sister, Susan, she will do well at Cair Paravel. I trust she is fertile.”

Peter gulped, inhaling, his eyelids fluttering with the rashness of the King’s question. “Yes. I mean, she has been bleeding for some years now.” 

“Good. Consider it settled then,” said Miraz, banging his fist on the table, making the silverware rattle.

“Is this truly the best course of action?” asked Peter. “What I mean is, is this truly what you want, your Majesty?”

Miraz leaned over the table again, his mouth twitching with glee. “Do I have to ask twice?”

Peter knew not to wrestle with it any longer and forced a smile. “She will be delighted with the news.”

“I will take her back with me on our journey south,” Miraz said, sipping from his goblet. “You may come to Cair Paravel for the wedding and I assure you we will be as hospitable to you as you have been for us.”

“Thank you for this honour,” Peter said again, rising from his seat. “Please excuse me whilst I speak with Susan and her ladies, so they can prepare for their departure.”

“Susan won’t need any ladies from Winterfell,” said Miraz.

Peter sat back down again.

“If I may, your Majesty, Susan’s ladies have been with her since she was young,” said Peter. “They have become like family to us.”

Miraz licked his lips. “We can provide whatever Susan needs in Cair Paravel. And she will find a new family at the castle. There is no need to remind her of the past now, is there, Lord Peter?”

Peter shook his head. “Of course. You are most generous, your Majesty,” replied Peter, feeling the sweat forming on his brow. “But –,”

“No buts. It is done,” Miraz said, simply. The King got up and swaggered towards the door. “I will be in my chambers until the feast,” he announced. The guardsmen bowed as he left the room. As soon as the door closed, Peter turned to a nearby barrel and vomited into it.

*

_The Lone Islands_

Caspian stood at the bow of the Dawn Treader, waiting for the horizon to grow ever closer. He had become used to the sun blazing down on him, standing, and waiting for the landscape of Narnia to crest on top of the waves. He wondered how he would explain it all to Edmund, to Peter, to Susan, Lucy and Eustace, explain how he played no part in his escape, but when his Narnian friends dragged him beneath the tunnels in a bid to save his life, he could not refuse them. He was their King. If honour was dying for them, then so was living. Caspian’s thoughts were shaken by the sound of hooves clopping on the wood of the deck.

“Are you alright?” asked Glenstorm, approaching Caspian.

“Yes, and no,” Caspian replied. “I’m thinking about the day we left. When you and Mr Tumnus defended the Dawn Treader so we could make our great escape.”

“It was the least we could have done,” said Glenstorm.

“But the Dark Island was not a viable option for us,” Caspian went on. “We couldn’t make a life there. Even after Aslan had rid it of its terrors. Besides, Narnia is my birthright. I cannot sit around and let Miraz take it from me.”

“Quite right, your Majesty.”

Caspian sighed. “I am no King here,” he said quietly.

Caspian looked around the top deck of the Dawn Treader. On board his ship, the Old Narnians bustled, busy with work. Mr and Mrs Beaver were running up the ropes to adjust the sails. Mr Tumnus was playing a merry tune on his pan pipes while the other fauns danced on their break. Asterius, the Minotaur, steered the ship, aided by Trufflehunter, the Badger, who sat on his shoulder with a pair of binoculars. Reepicheep, the most loyal mouse, was cutting up an old sack with his foil, and taking them over to Trumpkin who was leading a group badgers and mice in cleaning the deck. They were happy. How could Caspian deny them this happiness? And take them back to a place of uncertainty, where their very existence meant they could die at the hands of Miraz.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop,” said Glenstorm, stepping into Caspian’s eye line. “We are here because we want to be. Being here with you is our choice.”

“I just feel like the options are death, or death eventually,” replied Caspian, grimly.

“Everyone’s option is death… eventually…” said Glenstorm with a shrug, patting his hand on Caspian’s shoulder.

“I want to send a message to Edmund. I have to tell him –,”

“You can’t,” snapped Glenstorm. “If you do, you’ll put him in danger and risk giving away the upper hand we currently hold over Miraz.”

“Which is?”

“That he doesn’t know you’re alive. Let’s keep it that way.” Caspian nodded. “Aslan will guide us to wherever we’re supposed to be,” Glenstorm went on.

“My patience and my faith in Aslan is being tested,” admitted Caspian. “Where is he, Glenstorm? Why has he gone when we truly need him?”

“He’s not a tame lion -,”

“If I have to hear one more person…” Caspian trailed off, taking a breath and gripping the wood of the ship in front of him. “I am angry, Glenstorm. I am so angry. Aslan was meant to protect us all, guide us, and in our greatest hour of need he disappeared? What kind of leader does that? What kind of King?”

“Aslan will guide you, your Majesty. This is all just part of his plan,” Glenstorm said, nodding gently and taking his leave of his King, leaving Caspian to his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Winterfell_

After the feast, when House Pevensie was done wining and dining King Miraz, everyone retired to their rooms. It had been a merry affair, with dancing, jokes from Miraz’s jester, songs, and readings. Miraz looked like he was having a good time, which was exactly what the Pevensies wanted. They wanted to keep him sweet. They wanted to lull him into a false sense of security so that he didn’t suspect that their loyalty to him had been nothing but the path to survival. They wanted to keep living. But, as Peter sat there watching the night unfold, he truly didn’t know what would come next for them. Perhaps this was all it would be, playing nice to Miraz and in return, he would let them live out their days in The North without fearing for their lives. But underneath it all, no one was happy with that arrangement. As long as the Pevensie’s were alive, there would always be a threat to Miraz’s rules, because if nothing else, Peter and his family reminded Miraz of Old Narnia, one that he had conquered in name, but not in sentiment.

Everyone staggered up to bed in dribs and drabs, leaving the castle to be cleaned and tidied by those who kept Winterfell ticking, those loyal to the House of Pevensie, but had also pledged their allegiance to Miraz, just as the Pevensie’s had done to avoid their heads being knocked off by Miraz’s sword.

Those who lived in Winterfell knew of Peter and Susan’s arrangement. It had been born from early on in their adolescence, where after the death of their parents, Peter and Susan had to take care of Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace in a way that only parents could. Taking on these roles forced them together into a unique bond that never needed to be explained. They were High King and Queen, after all, their roles demanded they work together intimately, and these types of relationships were not uncommon in Narnia. The animals often bred within their families to keep the race of Talking Beasts alive. Peter and Susan never thought of themselves any more than Talking Beasts.

In the Lord of Winterfell’s suite, Peter lay in his grand four-poster bed with his arm around Susan. The red velvet drapes and bed covers reminded him of the grandeur of Cair Paravel, along with the golden chandelier that was a stark contrast to the dark, almost black brick of the castle. Susan’s head was on Peter’s chest, listening to the gentle beat of his heart, her head slowly moving with the rise and fall of his breath. Peter bent forward and gently pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling her scent _. It won’t be like this forever_ , he thought to himself, trying to make the most of this moment whilst he had the chance.

“I won’t go, Peter,” she whispered, gently, as if reading his mind. She always had an innate way of knowing exactly what she was thinking.

“You will. It is done,” he replied, simply, in a matter-of-fact tone that could not be argued with. That didn’t mean Susan didn’t try. 

“I’m a northerner now,” Susan said, sitting up on her elbows, looking down at him. “I belong here in The North with you.”

Peter sighed. “A King takes what he wants. That’s why he is King.”

“I know,” Susan purred, drawing circles in his chest hair.

It took a second for Peter to clock her meaning. She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

Peter breathed out a laugh. “ _You_ ,” he whispered against her head, grabbing her round arse cheek in his hand, and giving it a squeeze.

She laid down her head on his chest again, nuzzling her nose into him. “I have only ever known you, and I swore to myself I would keep it that way. But I’m not naïve enough to think this will be a marriage in name only. I know Miraz will want grandchildren,” said Susan. “He will want to secure his line of succession.” 

“Don’t talk about it,” whispered Peter. “If this is my last night with you, I want to remember you as mine.”

Susan looked up at Peter and pressed her lips to his. “I will, always and forever, be yours. I don’t care what he does to me, or what he wants from me. I want you to remember that. I’ll always be yours, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” Peter repeated, deepening their kiss.

Outside the wind blew, swirling around, dancing through the clouds. Earlier, during the feast, Peter and Miraz had hashed out the final details. Susan would leave with House Telmarine for Cair Paravel. Upon receiving the news, Lucy managed to persuade Miraz, with her infectious charm, that she would accompany her sister, along with their direwolves, Cordelia and Beau, who had finally been let out of hiding. Miraz didn’t seem happy about it but for some reason accepted. Peter dare not think what he had in store for his littlest sister. It was bad enough losing Susan but losing Lucy too. Still, she was old enough to make up her own mind. And with Lucy, Peter picked his battles. She had the strength of their mother, which he secretly loved.

“Miraz said the strangest thing to me earlier, when we were talking,” said Peter, running his hands through Susan’s hair.

“What was it?”

Peter sighed. “When we were in the study talking, before the feast, h said that he seems to think Caspian is alive. He wouldn’t reveal his source obviously, but… Can it be true?”

As the battle had come to a close, when the Narnian’s were surrounded from all sides in the Shuddering Wood, Peter dropped his sword at Miraz’s feet. He knew that if the Narnian army had continued there wouldn’t be a soul left. Susan, who stood in the trees with Lucy and the rest of the archers, remembered that Caspian had been there one minute and gone the next. Everything happened in such a blur that she found it hard to comprehend the sequence of events. All she could remember after that was Edmund banging his fists on the ground screaming Caspian’s name. Everyone was sure he had been mauled, left in bits amongst the blood bath that took weeks to clear. She and Peter had fronted that mission, as a punishment for their treachery. But thinking about it now, she had never found any indication that even the bits of his body had been left there, not even his sword.

Susan sat up on her elbows. “I know one thing for sure, Peter.”

“What’s that?”

“I never saw Caspian’s body,” she gulped.

*

Lucy stood in the crypt of Winterfell, trying not to be spooked out by the statues that stood in the grand archways. They had been chiselled in memory of those who had fallen in battle, the biggest and most revered one being King Caspian. Lucy quite often came to visit him in the crypt, asking in her thoughts for guidance from him and she always left the crypt with the right answer in her heart. Lucy looked over to the stone lion, the one that she had sat in front of for weeks before the battle, praying to Aslan for him to return and help. It was like never receiving a raven that you were expecting to come. Eventually, she had worked through her denial, and moved onto Caspian, onto the statue that actually gave hope to her heart. Aslan gave her none. Not anymore. He hadn’t been seen since he disappeared, and Narnia had been all the worse for it.

Between the statues were stone chests where the weapons were kept, swords, bows and arrows, and other relics bestowed upon them from Aslan, waiting day after day to be used again in a great battle, to avenge those whose statues stood before her. Lucy knew that it would be a long time before she wielded a sword, or her quiver and arrows, again outside of sparring with Eustace, and her heart hardened a little more knowing just how much justice needed to be served, and just how long she would likely wait. Just along from the crypt was the armoury and a collection of metalworkers that mainly focused their labour on repairs or made jewellery for the ladies or fastenings for cloaks. It was nothing grand now that this forced peace had been executed upon Narnia, and trade agreements on items that could be manufactured into weapons had stopped shipment. Miraz saw to that. Lucy turned and walked towards the armoury, the leather of her armour which wore daily without fail squeaked in the serene silence. The smiths heard her coming and nodded a courteous bow.

“Your grace,” they murmured.

“Stop it,” she replied, with a grin, having talked with the men late into the night, most nights, yet they still maintained their formalities.

“Got to keep up airs and graces now that the King’s arrived,” one of the smiths smirked.

“Not if I’ve got anything to do with it,” said Lucy, picking up a hammer and taking a sword off the shelf. She blew the dust off it and admired it, holding it out into the lamplight to inspect it.

“I told you it’s done,” the smith said again, nodding at the sword.

“I just want to finish it off,” sighed Lucy with a laugh, laying it on the table in front of her.

“Finish what off?” asked a voice. Everyone turned around and saw Edmund standing before them. The smiths bowed and murmured “your grace” at him and busied themselves with their work. Edmund eyed Lucy, stepping slowly towards her. “You look embarrassed,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“I was going to give it to you before you left,” she said, turning around and trying to hide most of the sword behind her back. Edmund stretched his head around her to look at the workbench, and Lucy sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s Narnian steel.”

“Shit, Narnian steel?” gasped Edmund, his eyebrows raised. “And if you wanted to give it to me before I left, if it helps, I will be leaving quite soon anyway.”

“It doesn’t,” she said, deadpan. 

Edmund walked forward further. “Lucy,” he whispered, shadows dancing on his face.

“I don’t want you to go,” Lucy said, her voice edging on whining. “I want to keep you here where you’ll be safe.”

Edmund took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “I know,” he whispered.

“It’s always been the three of us. You, me, and Eustace. Peter and Susan were always off making big decisions. They’re more like mother and father these days than our brother and sister. Losing you is like losing an arm,” said Lucy.

Edmund snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m not,” Lucy laughed, pulling her hands away from his. “I’m being serious.”

Edmund hung his head and bit his lip, his eyes darting around her again to the workbench. “Lucy Pevensie, have you been making me a sword?” he asked.

“What gave you that impression?”

Edmund looked around. “Probably because we’re standing with the armoury and you’ve got a sword on the workbench behind you. The only time I’ve seen you grip a hammer so tightly was when Eustace threatened to knock down the pen you’d built for the chickens.”

“Alright,” Lucy sighed. “I made you a sword.”

“For me to take to The Wall?”

Lucy nodded. “For you to take to The Wall.”

“Can I see it?”

Lucy shook her head. “It’s not finished.”

“Lu, I know you. It’s finished,” sighed Edmund. Lucy turned to the workbench, picked up the sword, one hand on the hilt and another on the tip, and held it out to Edmund. He was truly taken aback by it. “Lucy, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I had a lot of fun making it.” 

Edmund took the sword into his flat palms and held it under the lamplight so he could see. The head of the sword had a silver lion on its pommel, with twisted tree roots forming the rest of the hilt. There were words in Old Narnian engraved on the blade, ones which Edmund would have to look up later, but it probably roughly translated to something about being Just.

“Come on, it’s late,” said Edmund, putting the sword into a spare sheath. “The feast has finished. We should go to bed.”

Lucy put down the hammer and they slowly walked towards the stairs that would take them up to the courtyard, nodding to the smiths as they left.

“I’ve insisted I go with Susan to Cair Paravel,” Lucy said, hurriedly, once they were out of earshot of the smiths. “I don’t know if you overheard at the feast.”

Edmund gripped her arm and half-dragged her into the shadows. “Are you mad?” he asked in hushed tones.

“No!” she spat, yanking her arm from his grip. “Of course not,” spat Lucy. “If I go with her, I can stop anything bad happening to her. I can protect her.”

“And get yourself killed in the process? No one can protect anyone.”

“I’m not letting her go alone and that’s final,” Lucy argued. “Besides, Miraz agreed.”

“Peter needs you here,” retorted Edmund. “There must always be a Pevensie at Winterfell.”

“For what?” Lucy laughed, bitterly. “What am I doing here? You get to go off to The Wall and live your life where I might never see you again and Susan is being married off to the son of a narcissistic dictator -,”

“Keep your voice down!”

“It’s the truth!” Lucy half-shouted. “And I’m meant to stay here, for what? To be the token Pevensie? For whom?”

“For Eustace, at least. He will be left vulnerable to people who don’t trust House Scrubb. When Uncle Harold didn’t come to the battle when called he betrayed not only Peter but his son as well. Now people question the loyalty of the Scrubb’s, and Eustace, being heir to the Lantern Waste, he’s in a very dangerous position. He’s the one that needs your protection.”

Edmund knew he had hit a nerve when Lucy fell silent.

“Eustace doesn’t need me,” said Lucy, her voice starting to crack. “He can protect himself, but Susan –,”

“He needs you more than Susan does. We were raised to be warriors, but Harold –,”

“Susan could be walking into her grave and it’s my duty to protect her,” replied Lucy, cutting him off. “I’m going. And if you dare try and stop me, I’ll use that sword I made for you to cut your insides out.”

And with that Lucy stormed off towards the stairs.

“Lucy!” Edmund called after her, but she didn’t stop. He raced up to her and grabbed her by the arm again. “Lucy!”

“WHAT?” she cried, turning to him, her chest heaving.

Edmund gulped, feeling his eyes fill with tears. “I’m going to miss you,” he said softly, choking out a sob.

Lucy let out a large breath and flung her arms around her brother, drawing him in tightly into her grip.

They stood like that for a while, just holding each other, trying to remember the feel of their bodies pressed against each other. It might never happen again. The Wall was so unpredictable. Lucy inhaled the scent of Edmund’s hair, hugging him even tighter.

“You’ll have to work at it every day,” she said, pulling back. “The sword. You’ll have to practice. Find someone to spar with.”

“I will.”

“All good swords have names, you know,” she added.

Edmund thought about it for a moment. “All compasses have needles, and I’ve got one of my own. It will bring me back to you.”

Lucy kissed her brother on the cheek. “Don’t forget to stick them with the pointy end.”

The two of them laughed and headed upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glozelle/Jaime/Tyrion  
> Nathaniel (OC)/Joffrey/Ramsay

**Chapter 4**

_Cair Paravel_

Susan wandered through the castle of Cair Paravel, thinking how long it had been since she had last been here, when she and her siblings were on the throne, and when they ruled alongside Caspian. Now, she was no longer even Lady of Winterfell, let alone a Queen. She longed for her former bedroom in the castle which had been on the Southern corridor, with its heavy blue drapes and ornate furniture that Mr Tumnus and the Beavers had arranged to be made for them all as coronation presents. Now she had to suffice living in cramped quarters, whilst Queen Prunaprismia lay her head on Susan’s feather bed.

As Susan passed through the corridors, there was a Telmarine soldier standing guard at every door. It was a harsh reminder that she was a guest, a visitor, in this place she used to call home. She hadn’t dared visit The Throne Room yet, but she couldn’t help herself, like a scab that she couldn’t help but pick at. She needed to see her throne again, even though she couldn’t sit on it, she needed to know that there was at least something left in this castle that used to be hers, something she could see.

Susan stepped through into the grand chamber, with its high ceilings, big archways, and stone pillars. It was so grand. The Telmarine’s didn’t deserve The Throne Room, not really. It should be deserved for people anointed by Aslan. Narnia was his country, and he had named them Kings and Queens himself. Although, where was Aslan now? Now their empty words from a lost lion meant nothing.

“Lady Susan, can I assist you?” Susan jumped, the sound of someone’s voice echoing around the hall startled her. When she turned around Glozelle stood in front of her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off.

“That’s quite alright,” she replied, meekly. “I’m just getting acquainted with the castle.”

“Acquainted?” asked Glozelle, cocking his head. “You used to live here, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” nodded Susan. “But much has changed.”

Susan looked to the raised platform beneath the grand stained-glass window, the feature that every Narnian talked about when they visited the castle. Instead of five golden thrones, the image of which Susan expected to still see, there was now only one. It was a dull grey colour that contrasted with the delicate beauty of the design of the window above it.

“I’d heard rumours that King Miraz had melted down the old thrones,” said Susan, as much to herself as to Glozelle. “I suppose those rumours were true.”

“King Miraz wanted one throne,” Glozelle replied.

They both stood in silence for a moment, Susan being warmed gently by the rays of the sun that gleamed through the window. The heat danced across her skin, as she put a hand up to her collarbone to feel it, wishing like always that Peter was by her side to hold her hand and guide her through whatever this journey would be. Susan looked around to Glozelle and smiled, knowing that if she didn’t pick her words carefully, her head could be out on one of the spikes in front of the castle walls by this afternoon.

“One King only needs one throne,” she decided to say.

“Indeed,” Glozelle nodded.

She had saved herself this time. “Please excuse me, Glozelle,” she said with a deep curtsey, and made her way towards the servant’s staircase, knowing it would lead directly to the balcony, but as she stepped out into the hot sun, she collided with someone carrying a bowl of apples. “Oh!” Susan exclaimed as the apples fell to the floor and the bowl followed it with a clash. 

“Your grace, I am so sorry,” cried the servant, bending down to pick up the apples and the bowl.

“Let me help,” said Susan, crouching immediately, the fabric of her dress splaying in a circle around her. As she put the apples back in the bowl, she looked at the young woman before her. Dressed as a servant of the castle would be, in a cream muslin dress and a brown apron, Jill Pole’s brown hair was braided in the fashion of the capital.

“Jill?” Susan whispered, looking at her. “Is that really you?”

Jill looked to her, her eyes growing wide with surprise. “Susan?!” They both got to their feet and flung their arms around one another, squeezing each other as tightly as possible, as if the other could disappear at any moment. As they pulled apart, they looked around to make sure no one had seen them.

Susan cleared her throat. “Please, come walk with me in the orchard. I’d like some company,” she said, loudly, making sure they were heard by anyone within range. Jill handed the bowl of apples to another passing servant with instructions to take them to the dining room and linked arms with Susan, walking together towards the orchard.

As soon as they were far enough away, Susan turned to Jill and embraced her again. “It’s so good to see you,” she cried, feeling the emotion well up in her eyes. She had come so far with only Lucy for company, who seemed to return to the castle only to sleep. To have another person to talk to, to know who she truly was, it was a blessing only Aslan could have given her.

“It’s so good to see you,” Jill replied. “How are you here? How are you alive?”

“I know, I know,” Susan nodded, pulling away and gripping her friend’s shoulders. “But why are you a servant? Are you not still a lady?”

Jill shook her head. “No, Miraz and the Queen brought their own. I wish I had come with you to the battle –,”

“Don’t even think about it. Trust me, I’ve spent a long time wishing we had done things differently and all it does is eat you up inside,” replied Susan with a bitter laugh. They turned, arm in arm again and continued walking. “I wish we could have come back for you. I’m so sorry. You must have felt totally abandoned.”

“Helpless is more like it,” thought Jill, as they walked through the trees. “Mother taught me so much about herbal remedies and healing before she died. I just wish I could have been some use to you.”

“You’re helping me now, by being here,” replied Susan.

“I’d heard you’d gone to The North. Are you happy there?” Jill asked.

Susan nodded. “As happy as we can be. We gave up a lot but if it means we can live I think it’s worth it.”

“Peter would kill me for pledging fealty to that monster,” Jill spat, nodding towards the castle.

“Nonsense. We did the same. We’re all just doing what we can to survive,” replied Susan. “We cannot protect Narnia if we are dead.”

“What happened?” asked Jill, sighing loudly. “How did this all happen? And where is Aslan? I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Usually there are whispers but, nothing.”

“I know, and I don’t know how we can fix it but we’re trying,” said Susan. “We’re constantly trying to come up with plans, but we don’t know who we can trust. We haven’t seen Aslan either and –,”

“Why are you here?” asked Jill. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course. I mean… how? How has Miraz let you come back?”

“Miraz wants to unite our houses,” Susan gulped. “He has betrothed me to Prince Nathaniel.”

Jill gasped, then laughed bitterly. “The ultimate pledge of loyalty.”

“Of course,” nodded Susan. “I am just a pawn in this much larger game of for The Narnian Throne.”

They walked further, comfortable in each other’s silence, relishing this moment in each other’s company. As they approached the end of the orchard, where the trees stopped and the landscape became the view of capital before them, they turned to each other.

“We wanted to make a grave for Caspian when he died,” Jill said, quietly. “It’s just too awful. How can anything be right again now he is gone?”

“Well… we’re not sure he is…” muttered Susan, looking over her shoulder.

Jill’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

“When Miraz came to Winterfell, he and Peter were talking in the study. According to Peter, Miraz seems to think Caspian is alive. He wanted Peter to tell him about any secret messages that we’ve been sending.”

“Surely he’s lost his mind?” replied Jill.

“To be honest, I’m starting to become convinced myself,” said Susan.

“No way,” Jill shook her head. “I heard the stories. The amount of bloodshed. The bodies. The gore. Not a chance.”

“That’s what I thought,” agreed Susan. “But we never found a body. Not any part of him. Not even his sword.”

Jill gulped. “It can’t be true.”

“Can’t it?” asked Susan, arching her eyebrow. “Listen, Miraz didn’t want me to bring any of my ladies from Winterfell, and now I’ve met you, I’m glad of it. He told Peter he wanted to appoint ladies from the castle –,”

“I’ll try and put myself forward for the job. I’ll have an edge considering I’ve been a lady before,” replied Jill. “I don’t think he knows about our history. He certainly wouldn’t have allowed me to keep working here if he did.”

“Be careful,” said Susan. “He might see right through us. Someone else could know.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Jill, putting a hand on Susan’s shoulder. “But don’t worry, you have a friend at the castle, Queen Susan. I’ll protect you.”

*

King Miraz sat in the castle’s study, leaning back on his chair with his feet up on the table. The mud that was caked onto his boots flaked off onto the desk every time he stretched. The room was sublime, embossed with gold, and the drapes that hung from the wide windows were a clear mesh that spun and twisted in the breeze that came off the sea. The balcony outside was wide, where Miraz could admire the view of the horizon and note any incoming ships. He had watched the horizon for a long while now, waiting for the Dawn Treader to crest. It hadn’t come.

 _Surely Caspian must be alive_ , Miraz thought, clenching his fists, becoming enraged with every passing thought. He had been there one minute and gone the next, and no one could give him a straight answer as to where he had gone. It was the boy, that young Pevensie boy, screaming and crying on the ground that told him in his gut that Caspian had been slain. There was no point looking for a body. Every body had been butchered beyond recognition, Telmarine and Narnian alike.

It was a bloodbath, and Miraz’s greatest victory, for now, he had claimed The Narnian Throne and ruled over its rich planes just as he had planned to do. Every plan he managed to succeed in following through with became another inch of his armour. Every time it edged him and his House closer to being undefeatable. 

There was a knock at the door that broke Miraz from his daydream. “Enter!” he called, taking his feet down off the desk and sitting upright in his chair.

The big wooden door creaked open and in stepped Miraz’s son, Nathaniel. He was tall like Miraz, with the same raven coloured hair and a swagger that could identify him as a Telmarine from afar. “You summoned me, father?” said Nathaniel, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“Sit, Nathaniel,” said Miraz, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. Nathaniel strode in lazily, his feet almost dragging behind him on the stone floor and sat on the chair as instructed. “We have just returned from The North,” said Miraz, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“How did it go?” asked Nathaniel, picking at his nails, as if Miraz had taken a trip to the market.

“Well. We have brought back the two Pevensie girls to the castle,” replied Miraz. “So, there has been some success, I would say.”

Nathaniel looked up, his eyes grew wide and a gleefully smile crept across his face. “As prisoners?”

Miraz smirked in return. “Of sorts.”

“Father,” Nathaniel laughed. “You do delight me.”

Miraz’s face fell from its smirk into hardened lines across his face. “This is no laughing matter, Nathaniel. There are still those in Narnia who call me usurper!” Miraz spat, slamming his fist on the table.

“Touchy,” Nathaniel smiled, grimly, picking up a quill from the desk and twirling it between his fingers. “Touchy, touchy.”

Miraz sat back, dissatisfied with his son already. “You will marry the eldest girl. Susan, I think her name is.”

“Now, why would I want to do that?” sighed Nathaniel. “I don’t intend on marrying anyone, father.”

“You WILL marry her,” Miraz insisted, pointing his finger towards Nathaniel. “It is done.”

“And is this marriage meant to be a resolution to your problems, father?” asked Nathaniel. “Will a wedding distract the peasants outside the castle walls from calling you a usurper?”

“Watch your tone!”

“Will it make you happy, father?” Nathaniel teased, sitting forward, revelling in every moment he could provoke his father into a rage. “Will it make you a real King?”

“I AM THE KING!” bellowed Miraz, shaking the candles from their sticks. Nathaniel fell silent but still smirked, sitting back again, and picking at the feathers on the quill that was still in his hand. Miraz sighed, running his hands through his hair. “When Caspian sat on The Narnian Throne, I was a rebel and a traitor. Now I am King. So someday you will sit on that throne with Susan by your side and the truth will be what you make it.”

“Do I have to marry her?” asked Nathaniel, almost genuinely. 

“Yes. She’s very beautiful and young,” replied Miraz simply. “If you don’t like her, you only need to see her on formal occasions, and when the time comes, to make little Princes and Princesses.”

“When can I meet her?”

“Whenever you like. Perhaps at dinner tonight? I’ll make sure she is wearing a particularly… flattering dress,” said Miraz, reaching for a piece of parchment. “My quill,” he asked, holding out his hand.

Nathaniel placed the quill in his father’s hands and got up. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” said Miraz, dipping the quill in the ink. “Make sure to charm her, Nathaniel, I really do not want to put up with her if she’s going to be moping around the castle even more than she already is.”

“You needn’t ask twice, father,” said Nathaniel opening the door and stepping outside. “Charm is what I do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Cornelius/Benjen/Jeor

**Chapter 5**

_The Wall_

Edmund stood on the top of The Wall that bordered Narnia and the wild northern lands. Far off in the distance, although he couldn’t see it, Edmund knew the old, ruined castle called Harfang, which once belonged to the giants, still stood. He and Caspian had always said they would go together, to examine the ruins and explore the lands around. On top of The Wall, the snowflakes swirled. The wind making his bones ache, even beneath the heavy furs that he wore. The snow reminded him of the White Witch, even to this day. He had made his peace with snow, trying to detach himself from the uncomfortable feelings he had about it every time a snowflake landed on his cloak. He tried to let them dissolve like the snow would under the heat of his pelt. It was easier said than done when once upon a time he had betrayed his family for evil. Still, Aslan had forgiven him. Aslan had given his life for Edmund. He couldn’t give up on Aslan now, not when Aslan had never given up on him.

The bitter cold, at least, meant for once he would be able to feel something. He hadn’t minded the numbness. It helped because when he thought about Caspian and their imagined journey to Harfang. He didn’t feel the searing pain that he had felt at first. He had become hardened to it. Just like the snow that packed itself against the strong pillars of The Wall. He had become the snow. He felt at home here. He felt safe in the quiet. He felt safe with his sword at his side, in the company of his direwolf, also called Snow, sworn to protect his and Caspian’s country.

No one knew what truly lay beyond The Wall, but everyone hazarded a guess that it could still be inhabited with giants. No giant had been seen for years, of course, and the majority of the land had been left uncharted. It was all rumours, Edmund was sure. Nothing could be truly bad out there. He and his family had seen to it that the evil had been banished from Narnia, that was until Miraz found his way here. Peter still wasn’t sure how he had done it, but then again, anything was truly possible in Narnia. The thought had given him a flicker of hope.

Doctor Cornelius approached Edmund and stood next to him, also looking out onto the snowy landscape of The North. His fur pelts looked a part of his body now, as Edmund hadn’t seen him without them for a long time. Edmund was sure that everyone would start to think the same as him, that he would resemble Snow, his direwolf, more than a human eventually.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Cornelius said simply, his eyes fixed on the landscape.

Edmund turned and looked at him. “You’re leaving?”

The wind roared between them, whipping their hair into knots.

“I’m Commander of the Night’s Watch, Edmund. My job is to lead the men. Out there,” he said nodding to the wilderness, which couldn’t be seen beyond the fog. “There have been disturbing reports –,”

“What kind of reports?” asked Edmund.

“The kind I don’t want to believe,” sighed Cornelius, finally looking at Edmund. Although Edmund didn’t want to be rude, Cornelius looked old. His face was weathered and hardened, leathered even, with a bristly beard that hung down to his middle and hair to match. He didn’t even bother wearing his glasses anymore.

“You’re not going out to… you know… hunt, are you?” gulped Edmund. When it got too cold and the stocks of food grew short, elders left their homesteads to hunt… and never returned.

“No,” Doctor Cornelius laughed bitterly.

“I’m ready,” said Edmund, feeling a fire burning in his chest. “I want to go with you, Cornelius. I won’t let you down. You know I won’t.”

“You’re not going,” Cornelius told him, simply.

“But –,” Edmund could see in his eyes that Cornelius’s mind was made up. “But I can help. I’ve fought wars. I’ve led armies. I’m -,” he shut himself up, looking around. They couldn’t be careless. “I’m a King,” he whispered harshly over the sound of the whistling wind.

“I know. But you’re not right now. You’re Edmund Pevensie. That’s it. No more, no less. Here at The Wall, you’re not even heir to Winterfell. At the Wall, you’re better than no one,” said Cornelius. “I can’t be seen to be giving anyone any special treatment. Half the boys you’ve seen training will die North of The Wall. They die in pain, and I cannot let that happen to you, Edmund,” Cornelius’s voice cracked, but he gulped down any emotion that he threatened to betray on his face. “Not if we have any chance in restoring you all to the throne,” he whispered, and Edmund hung his head. He knew Cornelius was right.

“I don’t believe that giants and ghouls and hags are lurking beyond The Wall,” said Edmund. “I don’t believe Aslan could let it be so.”

“You’ve never been North of The Wall, so don’t tell me what’s out there,” replied Cornelius. “Anyway, Aslan isn’t here, is he? And Miraz found his way into Narnia somehow.”

“I know,” replied Edmund, feeling his teeth grit together. “I’m just so angry,” he said, turned away from Cornelius, blinking back the tears and gripping the wall in front of him, even though the sheer bitter coldness of the snow burnt his hands. “I’m so angry that he would allow this to happen. I’m angry that Caspian’s gone. How can Aslan just _let this all happen_? How can he let Miraz do what he’s done to us? He hasn’t been seen for a long time now and I’m really starting to think he has just abandoned us.”

“He is not a tame lion,” whispered Cornelius. 

“I know that!” spat Edmund, turning back to his mentor. They both fell silent, their chests rising and falling with the echo of the wind. “How can he let this evil into a place so pure and good?”

“I don’t know why he does what he does,” replied Cornelius. “But I know that he does everything for a reason, even if we can’t see it at first.”

Edmund nodded. “I hope you find Narnians out there. True, old Narnians, who can help us reclaim the throne and overthrow Miraz. I’m sure it’s just a fantasy, along with the idea that…” he trailed off, gulping, not wanting to say out loud his deepest feelings and feel vulnerable. But he could not lie to himself any longer. “The idea that Caspian could still be alive.”

Cornelius lay a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “You know that Caspian is dead, don’t you Edmund?” Edmund nodded. “But…” Cornelius trailed off, clearly humouring Edmund, seeing the pain in his eyes. “If he is, I know he’s making his way back to us right now.”

Edmund wiped the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. “What’s the plan then? What are you going to do tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow we continue plotting the Wild Lands, and make sure they’re inhabitable eventually. During the night, we protect,” explained Cornelius. “We protect the realm from whatever’s out there.”

Edmund gulped. “I don’t think anything is out there,” he said, his face returning to the deep fog, his face, and heart, hardened again.

“I hope you’re right, Edmund,” Cornelius replied with a sigh. “I really hope you’re right.” Edmund forced a weak smile and nodded. “We’ll speak when I return,” said Cornelius, who left him to his thoughts.

*

_The Lone Islands_

Caspian had taken over steering the Dawn Treader as the sun started to creep over the horizon. It was still quite dark, even with the sliver of sun, but Caspian couldn’t sleep for long these days, so as soon as it was light enough, Caspian was up and ready for the day whilst the crew still slept. He wound the anchor up with all his might and edged the bow of the Dawn Treader ever forward towards Narnia. As usual, he heard hoofs on the wood of the deck and knew his early starts had been rumbled by his first mate.

“Rising already, my King,” Glenstorm said, ascending the staircase on his four hooves towards Caspian, taking his place at his King’s and Captain’s side.

“Yes, Glenstorm,” Caspian nodded, keeping his eye on the horizon. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You never do,” smiled Glenstorm, following Caspian’s eye line. “According to the maps, we will soon be approaching Ramandu’s Island.”

“Yes, I noticed it was the next island on our course.”

“Is it somewhere you’d like to port?” Glenstorm asked, tentatively.

“I think it would be a good idea if Ramandu would have us. Although he is quite wealthy, do you think we have enough gold?” Caspian asked.

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Glenstorm sighed. “Shall I get Mr. and Mrs. Beaver to start making a list of things we need?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” nodded Caspian.

They steered and sailed in silence for a few moments. Caspian could feel Glenstorm standing stiffly next to him, which usually meant that he was waiting to bring an idea or news to his King.

“What is it Glenstorm?” asked Caspian.

“Oh, nothing, your Majesty.”

“Subtlety has never been your forte, Glenstorm. Out with it,” demanded Caspian, with a slight smirk.

Glenstorm turned to Caspian. “I have an idea…”

Caspian sighed. “I don’t like your ideas, Glenstorm. They’re always very good which means I have to follow through with them.”

Glenstorm chuckled. “Very good, your Majesty. Ramandu has a daughter named Lilliandil. Her beauty is renowned throughout the Lone Islands. She has long blonde hair and is, of course, a star.

“Yes…” said Caspian, suspiciously.

“I’ve heard Ramandu has access to mercenaries in Narrowhaven.”

“Oh, Glenstorm!” cried Caspian, almost letting go of the handles on the helm. “Please, the sun hasn’t even risen fully and we’re already talking of war.”

“Actually, we’re talking of marriage, your Majesty. But you cannot bury your head in the sand, my King,” said Glenstorm. “You must face the truth. If you want to reclaim The Narnian Throne then it’s true, you must go to war,” he insisted.

Caspian said nothing, digesting Glenstorm’s words, pretending to be incredibly fixated on where they were going. 

Glenstorm leaned over to Caspian “Just meet with Ramandu and keep in mind my words,” he said, gently.

Caspian turned to his first mate and forced a weak smile. “I always do, Glenstorm. I always do.”

“Good,” nodded Glenstorm. “And it doesn’t have to be a proper marriage.”

“Glenstorm, you know my heart belongs to another.”

“I do, your Majesty,” nodded Glenstorm. “But needs must and when the time comes, we are going to need men and women who will lay their swords at your feet. Ramandu and his daughter can provide that for us. Now you’re not exactly the worst looking -,”

“Well, thank you.”

“And you are a King after all.”

“Some would dispute that.”

“I think it would be highly likely that Ramandu would grant his daughter's hand to you,” said Glenstorm.

“But what if Miraz has gotten there first? Hm?” asked Caspian. “What if when we arrive, he already knows who I am and thinks putting a spear through my heart will get him cozy with the King?”

“I think that’s unlikely,” replied Glenstorm. “The Lone Islands are somewhat removed from the politics of Narnia. They are set in their ways, the old ways, which, Aslan be gracious, we _are_ the old ways.” 

Caspian sighed again. “I know Aslan can’t just turn up and clear up our messes for us, but I could really do with his help right now.”

Glenstorm sighed and looked up to the stars that were ever dimming with the approaching morning light. “He is always with us, Caspian. Even if we can’t see him.”

Caspian followed Glenstorm’s eye line and could swear he heard a lion roar across the sound of the ocean.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Winterfell_

Since Susan, Lucy, and Edmund had left Winterfell, things had certainly been quieter. Eustace had no one to play chess with, no one to spar with, and no one to drink with. The emptiness echoed through the castle, everywhere he looked. There was no one to stay up late talking with, when it was summer, sitting by the windows and watching the stars, putting the world to rights. Dinner time, which was now an intimate meal between him and Peter, had become full of a forced conversation, rather than one filled with banter and jokes.

He and Peter sat and either end of the long table, facing each other. The jarring scrapes of the cutlery against plates seemed to fill up the vast space of the dining hall, making Eustace wince.

“Bramble is missing the others,” said Eustace. His voice had gone high and croaky, so he cleared his throat to bring it back down. “He likes playing with Lion, but I think she misses being in a pack.”

Peter forced a smile at his cousin. “I’m sure it won’t be long till she sees them again.” They both fell to awkward silence again. “Now Edmund is gone, I’m going to need you to step up more around the castle,” Peter explained, taking a sip of wine.

Eustace stabbed his chicken. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“I’d like you to be based in the courtyard overseeing the business of the day to day stuff. Signposting, troubleshooting, giving advice, taking notes of concern to raise with me later.”

Eustace thought about it. He liked the idea of more responsibility and feeling like he had slightly more status around the castle than usual. But that was Edmund’s job, not his. He was no King. Aslan hadn’t crowned _him_. He felt like it was as good as playing dress-up.

“I’m sure I could manage that,” he replied.

Then, a guard entered the dining hall.

“A raven, Lord Scrubb,” the guard said, holding out the scroll for Eustace to take.

Eustace did and pocketed it.

Peter eyed him suspiciously. “Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked, once the guard was out of earshot.

“It’s probably from father. I’ll read it later,” Eustace said dismissively.

After dinner, and once Eustace had taken leave from Peter, he hurried upstairs to his room. He closed the door gently and then dashed over to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of the grate, and pulling the scroll from his pocket.

He thumbed open the wax seal, and when he saw who had sent it, Eustace’s stomach dropped. It was King Miraz’s crest. Perhaps Lucy had written to him and Miraz had done her the courtesy of allowing her to use his wax and seal, to make sure the letter wasn’t intercepted. Eustace laughed bitterly to himself, he knew better than that.

Eustace dragged the roll downwards and cast his eyes upon the scratchy hand of Miraz.

_Scrubb,_

_You will have heard of your sister’s arrival at Cair Paravel, no doubt. Safe and well, of course. I keep my promises. I didn’t get a chance to speak with you in-depth at the feast at Winterfell, as your Master held me in conversation for the duration of the night. By master I mean, Lord Peter, naturally. Your loyalty to your captors is touching. Tell me, Scrubb. How do you think your father Lord Harold would feel if he could see his only son had turned lackey? I still remember seeing my soldiers battle their way through the thicket of the Western Woods. Shame for you how it all turned out, of course. You and the Pevensies were outnumbered ten to one. I’m sure Peter would tell you, if he had any sense, that it was a stupid rebellion but of course you all realised that as you watched your men die by my hand. But here you are, a squire to your own family? Your own flesh? Your mother’s blood gives you the right to take Winterfell for yourself. Perhaps I have said too much._

_You are welcome at Cair Paravel anytime._

_Miraz of the House Telmarine, first of his name, King of Narnia and the Lone Islands, Protector of the Realm._

Eustace read the letter over a few times, letting the words sink in. He was sure he could vomit if he thought about it enough. The King’s words… what did they mean… he couldn’t possibly be suggesting… He couldn’t believe that the King was writing to him.

Eustace inhaled sharply. What if Peter saw the letter? He couldn’t let that happen. Peter would think he had been conspiring with Miraz, or similar, that perhaps he had written to Miraz first. Peter was honourable and noble, and he would not be above punishing Eustace for treason, true treason to the King he served, even if it were in secret.

He screwed up the parchment, throwing it into the fire, and watched it as it curled under the flames. Eustace tried to pull himself together. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d only received a letter.

*

_Cair Paravel_

Somehow Jill had managed to become one of Susan’s ladies without arousing suspicion. Susan kept her as one of her closest attendants at all times, knowing that besides Lucy she had another friend in the castle whom she could truly trust. When they were alone, just the two of them, they were able to talk at length freely, without the worry of anyone overhearing them or betraying them to Miraz. 

Susan and Jill strolled through the gardens of the castle. The beautiful patio was rich with luscious leaves and bushes, with sublime looking fountains that spouted water that glistened in the sunlight. It looked so inviting that Susan wanted to sit on the edge and dip her toes in, just like she and Lucy used to do in the afternoons when it was too hot to sit under on the balcony of their chambers. 

“Are they watching?” Susan muttered to Jill, nodding her eye line towards where Miraz and Prunaprismia sat in the shade.

“Yes,” muttered Jill.

“Laugh with me,” commanded Susan.

“Ahahaha!” the girls laughed together loudly.

“Why are we laughing?” asked Jill quietly, surreptitiously looking over her shoulder at the King and Queen.

“I want them to think that their cruel stares don’t bother me,” whispered Susan, as they carried on deeper into the gardens.

The weather was so different than being in The North. Susan and Lucy quite often slept with their windows open, just so a breeze could blow through like the wind usually crept in through their drapes in Winterfell. Deeper in the gardens the plants grew more exotic and there was more shade to shelter in. However, there was more shade to hide in as well.

“Don’t say anything,” said Jill through gritted teeth, tightening the link of her arm through Susan’s.

Susan’s eyes widened. “Why?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Jill insisted, walking at the pace of a funeral march, making sure that everyone who was there, hiding or not, could see them smiling, even if it were forced.

Susan looked around. She could hear the gardeners far off, tending to the lawns with their equipment, likely far enough away that they were out of earshot of their conversation. But as Susan turned her head further around, a young boy was pruning the bushes not far from them, half-hidden in the foliage. Susan gulped. How much of what she had said in her past visits to the garden been overheard?

Jill and Susan walked a little further, under a beautiful awning that circled over them like halos. “Did you see that boy there?” whispered Jill, gesturing with her head to the boy that had been hiding in the bushes. Susan nodded ever so slightly. “One of the Queens.”

“One of the Queens what?” Susan whispered back, but in her heart, she knew exactly what Jill meant.

Jill widened her eyes, trying to get across telepathically what it was that she meant. The two ladies carried on walking in silence, passing a few more servants going about their business. “That one there belongs to the King,” Jill nodded to another servant who was taking water from a well just off from the patio path. The servant wasn’t even looking at Susan and Jill but somehow Jill knew exactly who they were and the fact that they were listening.

“And that one?” Susan said, surreptitiously pointing to another servant. “Is that one of the King’s or the Queen’s?”

“Neither,” Jill smirked. “He’s one of ours. A true Narnian.” The lad looked over and docked his hat to the two of them, then carried on turning over the earth ready for the plants that were at his side in a woven basked. “Who, at Cair Paravel, do you trust completely?” asked Jill, once they were sure they had passed everyone.

“You and Lucy,” replied Susan. “That’s it.”

Jill nodded. “Let’s keep it that way. You know as well as I do that this is all a game. Someday, Nathaniel will be King, and you will sit by his side. And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Narnia will gather here to see the little prince.”

“I don’t want it,” Susan shook her head. “I know that’s what I have to do. I know I have to do it to keep my family safe. But if you’re asking what I truly want, I just want to go back to Winterfell.”

“I know,” nodded Jill. The silence, the grief, the longing resting between them. “But no one here cares about what you want. No one but me and Lucy.”

“What if I have a girl?” asked Susan. “What if I never have a son?”

Jill chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll have boys _and_ girls, and plenty of them.”

“But what if I only have girls?” asked Susan, sincerely. Jill looked at her, their eye contact full of dread at the thought.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jill gulped, trying to be jovial.

“But what if I do?”

“I’m sure Miraz might change the law,” replied Jill, the both of them knowing full well he wouldn’t dare. “If not, I’m sure the crown will be passed to Nathaniel’s younger brother.”

“And I would be killed,” said Susan, resigning herself to the fact. “Once I have produced an heir, he’d have no further need for me either. I’m not safe here, Jill. One way or the other. This marriage can end only one way for me.”

Jill didn’t know how to respond. She shook her head and gulped. “Unfortunately, when you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die. There is no middle ground.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Winterfell_

Once again, Peter and Eustace sat at either end of the long table in the dining room of Winterfell. Around them, the candles flickered, making the shadows dance along the walls. The drapes, although drawn shut, quivered in the draft. Today’s meat was pheasant which was one of Eustace’s favourites. Their direwolves, Lion and Bramble, sat patiently waiting for any scraps to be dropped on the floor. Their eyes lit up at every mouthful that passed from plate to mouth. Eustace looked down at Bramble lovingly and threw down a chunk of pheasant for her to eat. Lion knew better than to wrestle it off of her and knew better than to beg her master.

“How did it go today?” asked Peter, nodding to the courtyard.

“Very well. I was expecting a raven from Lucy, but nothing came,” replied Eustace. His eyes lingered on Peter for a moment, watching his cousin eat. “You haven’t heard anything have you?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “It’s not safe for them to write at the moment. Anything they would send would be intercepted by Miraz’s men.”

“You have a cipher though, don’t you?” asked Eustace.

“They’ll be looking for it. They’ll have their best scholars trying to crack anything they send so it’s best for us to wait until they think we’ve given up.” Eustace didn’t say anything and went back to his meal. Peter looked over at Eustace. “Hey,” he said softly. “I miss them too.”

“We have to go and get them,” Eustace said, putting down his knife and fork with a clatter.

“What do you mean?” asked Peter, astounded by Eustace’s claim.

“When are you going to go and get them, Peter?”

Peter sighed. “Not now, Eustace.”

“When?” asked Eustace again, feeling the heat rise on his collar. The thought of Miraz’s letter made him flame in fury. It was burning a hole in his pocket this very moment.

“When do you want to have this conversation, or when do you want me to go and get them – like it’s that easy?”

“Both!” Eustace spat. “You need to make Miraz pay for what he’s done. He’s taken your sister; he’s killed Caspian and he’s driven away Edmund to The Wall. He’s destroyed Narnia, everything in it and the very essence of it. Aslan would –,”

“Do not mention his name,” Peter said through gritted teeth, pointing his fork at Eustace from across the table. “You are talking about war. Another war!”

“I’m talking about justice!” cried Eustace.

“I will not call in the bannermen and raise an army on your word, Eustace,” replied Peter. “It’s not as easy as that. We have fought so hard for what we have now.”

“He has taken Susan,” said Eustace, softly this time. The light of the fireplace flickering in the gloss of his eyes. “He has taken Susan… he has all but abducted her.”

“You want me to march to Cair Paravel?” Peter retorted, gesturing with his fork. 

“Miraz started this war a long time ago and he thought it ended in the Shuddering Wood. It hasn’t ended, Peter, the war still rages on. We need to end it. It’s your duty as High King to reclaim your throne,” said Eustace.

“You’re right, and it’s not your duty because you are not King – _I am_!” bellowed Peter, slamming his fist on the table. “I will have no more said about it. Understood? We are doing what we can to survive at the moment. Timing is everything.”

“We cannot wait for Aslan to save us,” cried Eustace. “Not this time!”

“Don’t say his name,” Peter spat again. “We still don’t know…” he trailed off, not wanting to think that any of his guardsmen could be on Miraz’s side. If there was a weakness from inside the castle, they would all fall.

Eustace sat back, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and got up.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked, stabbing at his plate.

“To bed. I’m not hungry,” said Eustace, as he stalked out of the room, closing the dining room door behind him with a thud.

He walked hurriedly back to his rooms, not making eye contact with anyone on the way. He felt the angry fire, rising up inside of him again. He wanted to scream, wanting to let it all out to be melted away by the snow of The North. Instead, his chest just inched in that irritating way it liked to do when he felt anxious.

When he got up to his room, he sat at his desk, watching the flames dance in the firelight. He couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, not when he had given up so much. He had come here to be with the Pevensies, to help them rebuild what Miraz had taken, he had to stay true to that, otherwise, he might as well go back to the Western Woods. But no, he couldn’t do that. Then his father would call him a failure for the rest of his life. He had to help Peter push forward, he had to remind him what this was all for.

Eustace reached inside one of the drawers at his desk and pulled out a roll of parchment, picking up his quill and dipping it in ink. He titled _Dear Edmund_ at the top of the parchment, knowing that if one Pevensie brother didn’t listen to him, the other should.

*

_Cair Paravel_

Lucy, Susan, and Jill had all congregated in Susan’s chambers. It wasn’t the room that Susan had had when the Pevensie’s lived at the castle during their reign, those chambers now belonged to Queen Prunaprismia. The chambers that Miraz had bestowed upon Susan were nice, of course, everything in Cair Paravel was nice, but they were the rooms that the Pevensies had given to far away Lords who visited on diplomatic missions, particularly the Lords that they didn’t like much. Well, it had come around for Susan.

Lucy was stood in the middle of the chamber with the fire-poker, in a stance that Susan had seen her copy from Peter a thousand times. The room was filled with gold and yellow, the light of it only accentuated by the roaring fireplace which Jill sat by, stitching, with the direwolves, Cordelia and Beau at her feet. Susan sat on the chaise lounge absentmindedly looking at the velvet drapes and pretending she was back in her own room, with Peter laying down next to her.

“What are you doing?” asked Susan, looking over at Lucy. 

“Practicing,” replied Lucy, bouncing on the balls of her feet in a prepared stance. She looked ahead at an unknown enemy as if waiting any moment for them to walk through the door.

“Ladies shouldn’t play with swords,” Susan smirked, picking up a book from the table next to her. 

Lucy laughed. “I’m not playing! And besides, I don’t want to be a lady.”

“Miraz will make you try,” Jill said.

“If he does, I’ll cut his balls off!”

“Lucy!” Susan cried, but couldn’t help but laugh. Now they were all laughing.

Lucy stopped for a moment, letting her arms fall to her sides as she put the poker back on the stand next to the fireplace. She sat on the end of Susan’s chaise lounge, taking Susan’s feet in her hands, and massaging them.

“That’s nice. Thank you,” said Susan, stretching out like a cat.

“You wear your hair like a real lady of the capital now,” said Lucy, teasing.

“Well, why shouldn’t I? We are in the capital after all. I’ve got to play the part if I want to keep my head,” said Susan, bitterly.

“I know,” Lucy nodded. “But you should remember where you came from. I know Peter wouldn’t like those styles if he were here.”

“Peter isn’t here though, is he?” snapped Susan. Lucy’s face hardened. “I’m sorry,” Susan said to her sister with a sigh. “I just mean that Peter has a lot more on his mind. It’s only a few braids.”

“Yes, hopefully, he’s working on a plan to get us out of here,” replied Lucy.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Susan sat up immediately and Jill got up to answer the door. She bowed, so Susan knew it was someone important and resolved to straighten her dress out as she and Lucy both got up. Jill stepped aside and let Prince Nathaniel in. Both Susan and Lucy bowed, their eyes quickly darting to the other. Had he heard Lucy’s comment?

“My Prince,” said Susan eagerly. “It’s such a pleasure to see you. I didn’t know you were coming, otherwise, I would have…” She struggled to think what she would have done, other than panic. “Prepared,” was her answer.

“My lady,” he said, stepping forward to her and taking her hands in his. “I’m afraid I have yet to speak directly with you. I only admired you across the table at our last feast. Then, I was called away on my father’s errands. I hope you don’t think I’ve forgotten you.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my Prince. I am humbled to be on your mind at all.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Susan could see Lucy’s nostrils flare.

“With your permission, I have something I’d like to give you,” said Nathaniel, holding out a golden pendant with a matching chain.

Susan gasped, clutching her collarbone. The performance of it all made Lucy feel sick but she knew the importance of flattering the Prince and so held her tongue. “It’s beautiful,” Susan cooed. “Like the one your mother wears.”

“You’ll be Queen one day, my lady,” said Nathaniel. “It’s only fitting you should look as perfect and as regal as one.”

“What have I done to deserve this honour?” asked Susan, gripping Nathaniel’s hand tighter.

“You are the most beautiful, gentle, gracious woman in all the realm. It is my pleasure to make you my Queen,” said Nathaniel.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” replied Susan.

“One day, we’ll be married in The Throne Room, and lords and ladies from across the land will come and you will be Queen above all of them. You’re my lady, Susan. From this day until my last.”

He leaned into her, his lips pursed, and Susan knew what she must do, despite the protest she felt in her heart. Think of Peter, she said to herself, but actually that made her feel worse. She couldn’t do this under Peter’s watchful gaze. It would break both their hearts. She pressed her lips to him and kissed him back, feeling Lucy stiffen not too far away from her. Their lips broke apart.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” whispered Nathaniel, giving her hands one last squeeze and strode out of the room. Jill closed the door behind him with a thud.

“Goodness me,” Lucy cried under her breath. “Is it really going to be like that for the rest of your life?”

“We have to play this game, Lucy,” said Susan, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“I can’t imagine anything worse,” replied Lucy, and the girls burst into laughter once again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_The Wall_

The ride to The Wall was not been as long as Eustace had expected it to be. As he reached deeper and deeper into Ettinsmoor, the wind became icy, and the grass was covered with a fine dusting of snow. Eustace was happy that he had worn an extra layer of fur beneath his cloak, but that didn’t stop the wind from whipping his face. He imagined his cheeks were as red as beetroots now.

Next to his steed, his direwolf, Bramble, padded alongside happily. Eustace smiled down at her. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe. I thought Peter would have been disapproving of his decision to visit the younger Pevensie at The Wall, but the Lord was all too obliging to give Eustace leave. Perhaps too obliging, Eustace thought. His relationship with Peter had never been fractious, but then again, there was usually enough of them that disagreeing with Peter had never come up before.

Before long, the high barracks of The Wall towered in front of him. The shards of ice stood tall and menacing as if reaching for the sky. It was just as it had always been described. Unyielding, fierce, and strong. Eustace slowed his steed for a moment and looked up at it, marvelling at its grandeur. He couldn’t imagine, even for a second, why Edmund would want to live here, marvelling though it was. He dug his heels into the horse’s side and approached the wooden gates. Outside, a member of the Night’s Watch stood on duty. 

“Who are you?” grunted the guard.

“Eustace of House Scrubb, but I’m a ward of House Pevensie. I’m here to see my cousin, Edmund,” said Eustace, always finding it hard to explain exactly how he had turned up in Winterfell. The guard eyed him suspiciously. “He’s expecting me,” Eustace lied. The guard said nothing. “Come on!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got a direwolf for crying out loud – can I make it any clearer?”

“Fine,” the guard said, banging on the wooden gate with his fist. Someone on the other end opened the gates wide.

“Thank you,” said Eustace, his voice edging on the side of exasperation, and in he trotted.

The courtyard was almost as big as Winterfell’s. There were wooden structures and platforms all around that had been built into The Wall, making it easy to utilise different parts of The Wall. That’s all it was though, wood and ice, and occasionally stone. It was busy and bustling, with many men taking on all sorts of errands, some were sweeping, some were ferrying a string of dead birds to the kitchens, some were practicing their sword fighting. Eustace looked around for Doctor Cornelius, expecting him to be looking down on his men hard at work, but couldn’t see him. Eventually, Eustace spotted Edmund descending some wooden steps into the courtyard, followed by his direwolf, Snow. Bramble bounded over to Snow immediately and the two direwolves started sniffing each other and playfighting as if no time had passed at all.

“Edmund!” Eustace called.

His cousin looked up and then jogged over to him. “Bloody hell, Eustace,” Edmund cried, hugging his cousin with such fervour that Eustace thought his head might pop off. “You didn’t give me a chance to write back.”

“I had to come. I couldn’t stand waiting,” replied Eustace, giving Edmund’s shoulders an affectionate shake.

“Come, we’ll get you warmed up,” Edmund said, leading Eustace through the courtyard. He pushed the wooden door open, into the warmth of the stone walls, into what Eustace assumed was the dining area. There were no windows, so the room was lit dimly with candles and there were rows of benches and tables all lined up. “Windows let the air in,” explained Edmund, nodding to the candles. “You’d understand that anyway, living in Winterfell.”

“Yeah,” Eustace laughed breathily.

Everything about the room was bare. Just a fireplace which crackled and popped in the silence. They sat down opposite each other, on the long wooden benches.

“Actually, this is the opposite to Winterfell by a long shot,” said Eustace, still looking around the room.

“Yeah, well,” nodded Edmund. “At The Wall there isn’t a lot of room for creature comforts. We’ve got other things on our minds.”

Eustace stopped gazing around and his eyes fell on his cousin. In the short time since he had seen Edmund, he looked smaller, with dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to shave. His lips were chapped, and his skin had a greyish hue to it. “Is that why you wanted to come?” he asked softly.

Edmund sighed gently, his eyes darting from Eustace. “I don’t really know why I wanted to come. I just did. It felt right. I couldn’t be at Winterfell anymore… although I do miss it.”

“Then come home?” Eustace said, leaning over the table. “Come back to Winterfell. We miss you.”

“I know, I miss you too,” replied Edmund. But he nodded his head fervently, one that Eustace knew meant that he wasn’t giving this up. “But my life is here now,” said Edmund.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“I know.”

“Do you want this?” asked Eustace. “Really, and truly.”

Edmund was silent for a moment. “I wanted something different,” he said. “Peter didn’t need me, not really.”

“Me and Lucy needed you.”

“I know, but…” he trailed off. “Everything is so different now. Caspian’s gone.”

“Is this what this is about? Greif?”

“Yes… and no…” Edmund put his head in his hands. “I don’t know how to explain it, Eustace. I know you’ve tried to talk me out of it a hundred times but -,”

“Make this a hundred and one.”

They both laughed and then fell into a comfortable silence. Outside the men were hard at work. The sharp clank of the metalworkers pierced the silence, as well as the clang of swords that clashed together as they practiced.

“It’s not that I’m not pleased to see you, but why are you here?” asked Edmund, with a slight grin.

Eustace laughed again. “I wanted something different for myself too.”

“You’re not joining the Night’s Watch, are you?” cried Edmund.

“Goodness, no!” Eustace giggled. “No, I just… I just needed to see you. That’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Edmund nodded. “The Wall welcomes you.”

“The Wall has taken my cousin,” said Eustace. “Me and The Wall do not get on as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m happy here,” Edmund replied, firmly.

“Are you?”

“Yes. Are you happy at Winterfell?” asked Edmund.

Eustace hung his head. “Yes… and no… I just can’t get my head around things at the moment. Miraz has taken my cousins away from me. He has killed my friend. Why is he still alive?”

“Because he won, and we lost,” said Edmund, simply.

“How could we have lost?”

“Because he had more men.”

“We had Aslan on our side,” said Eustace. “We had the King of all beasts fighting for us and it still wasn’t enough?”

“There are plenty of things that Aslan says and does that I don’t understand, and I don’t pretend to,” said Edmund. “Because I’m not meant to understand. None of us are.”

“You’re too accepting. You and Peter, both.”

“And you’re too stubborn,” countered Edmund.

“You don’t care, anymore Edmund, that’s your trouble.”

“And you care too much.”

They both sat back in their seats, their eyes on each other, both different men since they had said goodbye.

“We are two great Houses, Edmund, noble houses and we’ve been reduced to this,” Eustace gestured to the room around them.

“You shouldn’t care so much what people think of you,” replied Edmund.

“I don’t give a damn what people think of me.”

Edmund cocked an eyebrow. “That’s what you want people to think,” he said.

“It’s true.”

“When you see them whispering behind their hands, their eyes darting to you and then away when you see them – doesn’t it bother you?” asked Edmund.

“Of course, it bothers me. But Edmund, that’s not the point. Can’t we raise an army? We have enough men here at The Wall and in Winterfell. We could march straight to Cair Paravel and remind Miraz exactly who we are.”

“Have you talked to Peter about this?” asked Edmund, and then before he could give a chance for Eustace to respond, he said, “Of course you have, why else would you be here? You must listen to him, Eustace. He knows what he is talking about.”

“I know he does -,”

“I spent enough time when I was growing up trying to go against Peter. But then I stopped and listened and realised that actually I could probably learn a thing or two from him. He’s logical and practical. He led magnificently -,”

“I remember,” snapped Eustace. “I didn’t realise you paid such high value on your brother’s mind.”

“We may not always agree but ultimately he does all he can… for us and for the realm.”

Eustace sat forward in his chair, fearing that his sentiment was getting lost in Edmund’s nostalgia. “Every day that Susan and Lucy remain prisoners at Cair Paravel, the less the Pevensie name commands respect. If Miraz can seize one of our own and hold them captive, we are no longer a house to be feared.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Eustace.”

“One day we will die and all that will be left will be our names in the history books,” said Eustace. “It’s all that lives on. It’s not about you, not about your honour, but family. The future of our family will be determined in the next few months whilst Susan is waiting to be wedded off to that monster’s child. We could establish a dynasty that will last thousands of years, or we could collapse into nothing.”

Edmund let Eustace’s words wash over him for a moment before he sat forward as well. “Do you want my advice?” he asked.

“Not really, but I think you’re going to give it to me anyway,” said Eustace.

“Listen to Peter. He knows best. You might not like it, but Peter has a plan, he always has a plan. I know that wasn’t what you came here for.”

“No, you’re right,” Eustace said bitterly.

“I hope you came here to drink and be merry with your cousin for the night because that’s something I can do,” said Edmund.

“I’ll drink to that,” replied Eustace, as Edmund got up to retrieve a pair of goblets. “Edmund,” he called after his cousin. Edmund turned on his heels to face him.

“Don’t stay here just because you miss Caspian. You think we might not understand what you’re going through but our loved ones are gone too. I think about Lucy every single day.”

“I know,” nodded Edmund.

“Leaving The Wall wouldn’t be admitting defeat. It would be a sign of strength.”

Edmund nodded, but Eustace knew in his heart that his words had fallen on deaf ears.

*

_The Lone Islands_

The candles of Caspian’s study licked the walls, letting the shadows dance next to them as the flickering light fell on Caspian’s face. He looked over a large map that spread from one edge of the table to the other. Next to him sat Mr. Tumnus, puffing on his pipe, the smoke swirling like cyclones through the air. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver sat on the opposite side of the table, on chairs that were stacked with books so that they could see over the edge.

“The question I have is this, your Majesty,” said Mr. Beaver. “If Ramandu does give us an army, will he give us enough men to fight in combat with the Telmarines?”

“It’s a good question,” replied Caspian. “Peter estimated that Miraz had around three hundred men and I know that at least a hundred of those fell at The Battle, so there’s a good chance that if Ramandu gives us at least two hundred or two hundred and fifty solid fighters, we could match them.”

“But your Majesty, Ramandu and his people have never crossed the Bight of Calormen, at least that’s what it says in the books I’ve read,” piped up Mr. Tumnus.

“But what if they did?” asked Caspian, turning his attention to the faun, with a cheeky smile.

“Miraz is fool enough to meet us in open battle,” said Mrs. Beaver. “He wants our heads. He will not rest until we are dead. And he will think that because he has beaten us once he can beat us again. He’ll be blinded by pride and blood-lust.”

Caspian nodded. “I think we need another five galleons, four at a push. Hopefully, Ramandu can help us with that as well.”

“It’s a lot to ask,” sighed Mr. Beaver. “I only hope he sees things our way.”

“It’s only a matter of time before Miraz comes to the Lone Islands and kills off anyone who doesn’t bend the knee. I’m sure the thought of this would be enough to persuade Ramandu,” said Caspian. “Besides, if Ramandu is as smart as I’ve heard, he’ll want to be on the right side of history.”

“I’m sure Miraz doesn’t see it that way,” Mr. Tumnus chuckled bitterly.

“The only thing Miraz needs to see is the bottom of a grave,” muttered Caspian, placing another five gold ships next to the golden ornament of the Dawn Treader, securing his desire in his mind. 

“Don’t forget, the Pevensie’s will be waiting for you,” whispered Mrs. Beaver, trying to make eye contact past Caspian’s hanging head. “You know they will.”

“I can’t let them know what our plans are. Any ravens will be intercepted,” said Caspian.

“I know,” nodded Mrs. Beaver. “But they will be ready for you, however and whenever they hear the message.”

“They’re loyal to you,” added Mr. Beaver.

Caspian nodded solemnly. “If they’re still alive.”

Mr. Tumnus choked on his pipe smoke. “Your Majesty!”

“If it’s one thing I’ve learned it will be to never underestimate Miraz,” said Caspian, simply.

“And if it’s one thing we’ve learned, your Majesty,” said Mrs. Beaver, sweetly. “Is that family will always find its way back to each other.”

Caspian nodded, holding the image of Edmund’s face in his mind’s eye, and willing himself back to his love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Cair Paravel_

Susan had vomited into a plant pot the moment the servant had left the room, and as she walked a slow march towards The Throne Room, Susan thought of ways she could repay Jill for secretly disposing of the remains of her breakfast. It was an anxious thing to be summoned by the King, Susan thought. She had no idea what he wanted and prayed to herself that it was something in her power to grant him.

The guard walked in front of her, the same one who stood outside her bedroom every night, making sure that no one got in… or more to the point, the Susan did not get out. The guard said nothing to her, both of them walking in silence through the ridged corridors, every turn leading to another. It was a labyrinth, more than Susan remembered. As they approached the grand wooden doors of The Throne Room, Susan smoothed out the silk of her dress and entered.

“Susan, of House Pevensie, Lady of Winterfell, your Majesty,” said the announcer.

As Susan walked through the door, she felt everyone’s eyes burning into her, watching her as she walked to the middle of the room. Susan kept her eyes on Miraz, who sat lazily in his throne, propping his face up with his fist. She bowed low, graceful and regal, as respectful as possible.

“You wanted to see me your Majesty?” said Susan, her voice coming out high and squeaky, the echo of it quivering around the hall.

“That _is_ why I called you here,” Miraz replied, sarcastically.

Next to the grand throne sat Nathaniel, on a smaller chair, and on Miraz’s other side was Prunaprismia. Out of the corner of Susan’s eye, she could see Glozelle lurking behind a pillar.

“We have received word from the Lone Islands,” said Miraz, sitting up. “We know that Caspian is alive.”

He studied her, calculating her reaction. Susan couldn’t hide her shock. “Alive? But that’s not possible. How?”

“Yes,” Miraz sighed, drolly. “Yes, that is the great question. How?”

“Is he in the Lone Islands?” asked Susan, wondering how she could get word of this to Peter without it being intercepted.

“Yes, he is across the Bight of Calormen,” replied Miraz. “He rides the lost Dawn Treader galleon. One we thought had been lost to the seas a few years ago in the Great Storm. Very fortunate, it seems, is Caspian,” Miraz said, dryly. His eyes flickered with fire. “Did you know?”

“No, your Majesty,” replied Susan, who could, for once, answer honestly. “I thought he had died during the battle.”

Miraz was silent, picking at his nails. Susan’s eyes darted around the court. What was she supposed to do? Could she leave now? “I need you to do something for me,” Miraz finally said, his voice ringing through the silence and making Susan jump. “I need you to write to your brother and urge him to keep the King’s peace. If Caspian were to somehow find his way onto Narnian shores, there must be no… misunderstanding between us.”

Susan gulped, feeling sweat form on her brow. “Of course, your Majesty.”

“Tell him to come to Cair Paravel and pledge fealty to me,” said Miraz, looking into her eyes, as if he could hypnotise her.

Susan thought she was going to be sick again. “Your Majesty,” she said meekly. “We already bent the knee to you. I am here thanks to your most gracious honour, and I have promised to give my life to your son. We have pledged the ultimate fealty to you, and you have been so generous in return. Your honour on our family knows no bounds.”

Miraz sighed. “I am so disappointed in you, Lady Pevensie,” he said, standing up from the throne. Nathaniel and Prunaprismia did the same, out of respect.

Susan’s legs began to shake. She thought at that moment that her head would be on a spike outside the castle walls. She prayed Lucy was far enough away that she would not see her sister’s demise. She prayed Peter would avenge her. Once upon a time she might have prayed for Aslan to save her, but he was not a tame lion and would not always come if called. If it was Aslan’s will for her to die at Miraz’s hand then it must be done.

Susan closed her eyes, waiting for the guards to pounce on her but it did not come. She opened her eyes again and saw Miraz standing above her again. “I will bring my parchment to your chambers, and my finest quill. You will write to your brother and tell him what I proclaim. If he does not submit to my will he will be hanged for treason. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Susan replied, swallowing bile, and holding back tears. 

*

_In a Tavern, not far from Winterfell_

Eustace sat as his table nursing a large goblet of ale. It was his favourite table, where he, Edmund and Lucy used to frequent together. They played cards, drank merrily, and hung their snow-soaked cloaks to dry next to the fireplace. Looking at the Inn now, it felt so different. It felt smaller, with every nook and cranny masked by shadows. Eustace drained his cup and put it back down on the table, a little too heavy-handed. Everyone turned around to look at him. He averted his eyes, pretending to wipe some mud from his boots.

Eustace ached for Edmund and Lucy. Although it was good to see his cousin at The Wall, it hung over him like a black cloud.

The barmaid, who was collecting glasses at the next table, sauntered over to him. “My, my,” she purred. “You are a sorry state.”

Eustace forced a weak grin. “Yeah.”

“Penny for your thoughts. I’m a good council, people say.”

Eustace sighed. “My… brother and my sisters have gone away… travelling,” he chose his words carefully, not wanting his true identity to be found out. “I miss them, a lot.”

“Have they been gone a long time?” the barmaid asked.

“It certainly feels like it. My eldest brother and I are having a disagreement about… how to run the household, whilst they’re gone.”

“I see,” nodded the barmaid.

“Hey!” piped up a man at another table. “I know you!”

“I’m sure you don’t,” said Eustace, getting up to leave.

“You’re the Lord’s page boy, aren’t you?”

Eustace reached for his cloak and sighed. He had been rumbled. “I’m his cousin. I’m no page boy. If you wanted some official title, I suppose I’m his ward,” said Eustace, shrugging his cloak over his shoulders.

“Ward?” laughed the man, who’s beer-stunk breath managed to reach Eustace over the tables. “I’d say servant is more like it.”

Eustace could feel heat prickling on the back of his neck. “I’m a _Scrubb_ ,” he said pointing to the man aggressively. “Scrubb’s have been Lords of the Western Woods for years now. There’s not a family in Narnia who can look down on us.”

“Not even the Pevensies?” jeered the man.

Eustace reached over the table and grabbed the man by the collar.

“My Lord!” shrieked the barmaid, as she attempted to get in between them.

“They’re my family! In more than just blood!”

“Family?” the man spat bitterly. “Really? You father –,”

“You leave my father out of this –,”

“Enough!” cried the barmaid, successfully coming between them. “I’ll have no fighting in my tavern.”

Eustace looked at the man and let him go. He fell back against the chair.

“Your grace,” the woman said, in an attempt to reason with him, but Eustace was already heading for the door, leaving the sound of whispers behind him.

He walked swiftly back to the castle, feeling his heartbeat hammering in his chest, going through the interaction over and over again, wishing he had punched the drunk square in the face. As he reached the gates, the guards of Winterfell opened them to let him through. As he walked in, a guard ran forward to greet him.

“Your grace,” he called. Eustace noticed the guard was holding a scroll and held his hand out for it. The man looked down at the scroll and then at Eustace. “Oh, I’m sorry, your grace, this is for Lord Peter.” Eustace gulped, feeling his cheeks blush. “Have you seen him?” he continued.

“You have just seen me return. Do you think I would know where he is?” Eustace snapped. He snatched the scroll from the guard’s hand and stalked off towards Peter’s study where he knew he would be. He dared not catch the eye of anyone else as he walked through the courtyard, up the stairs and into the castle corridors, especially those who may have witnessed his exasperation. He should not have acted like that. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes, but he blinked them away. Everything was going so wrong.

He didn’t bother to knock on the door of Peter’s study and instead just pushed open the door. Luckily, Peter was sitting as his desk, quill in hand.

“Please do come in, Eustace, no need to knock,” he drawled sarcastically.

“This is for you,” Eustace said, tossing the scroll to Peter, who caught it, unravelled it, and read it. It only took Peter a few moments to read before he sighed loudly and put his head in his hands. “What does it say?” Eustace asked.

Peter handed the scroll to his cousin. “It’s a letter from Susan.”

Eustace read the first few lines. “From Miraz, you mean,” spat Eustace. “He might as well have written the damn thing himself.” Eustace read on. “No mention of Lucy,” he added.

“No,” Peter shook his head, his eyes fixated on the flames in the fireplace.

“Does he really think you’re going to go to Cair Paravel and bend the knee in front of him?” scoffed Eustace.

“What choice do I have?”

“You can’t be serious!” Eustace cried, pulling out the chair opposite Peter and sitting down.

“If it would save Susan from being taken like a lamb to the slaughter then you know I would do anything,” said Peter, measuring his words, but Eustace could see the anger rising within him. “I don’t think I should go, not really, but…” Peter sighed. “What if he does something awful to her?”

“I know,” agreed Eustace. “But if you go down there you will never be allowed to leave. Our best hope, our only hope, is that you can defeat them on the battlefield. Miraz butchered Caspian, who probably would have sworn fealty to him if Miraz had given him the chance, and the years have not made him kinder.” The pair of them sat in silence for a moment, the air hanging between them. Eustace sat forward in his chair. “Don’t go, Peter,” he said softly. “It will be the end of you and of Susan. There must be another way.”

Peter sat back, and for the first time, Eustace could see his cousin truly had no idea what to do next. They were in for a long night, one that would decide the future of both their fates.

*

_Cair Paravel_

Later that day, Susan had paced in her chambers, up and down, enough to make Lucy and Jill mad. They talked quietly together, not wanting to be overheard, until there was a knock at the door reminding them the court would soon be in session. Miraz held court in The Throne Room every afternoon before dinner, speaking to his subjects with disputes and ailments. Susan was expected to attend, and Lucy went along for moral support. If Jill had no duties, she would attend too.

The last subject of the day was leaving and Miraz, who was bored and weary from his decision making, stood up from the throne. In the crowd, Lucy stood next to Susan, restlessly changing her weight from foot to foot which made Susan even more anxious. She could not look upon her sister’s face. Not with what she was about to do.

“Does anyone else wish to stand before the court? Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Miraz announced. The room was silent for a split second, Susan knowing this would be now or never.

“I do,” she squeaked. “Your Majesty.”

All eyes turned to her as she stepped out from her place in the crowd to the middle of The Throne Room floor.

“What are you doing?” she could hear Lucy hissed, but she had already tuned her sister out of her head. The adrenalin rush beating around her body was all that she could pay attention to now.

“Lady Pevensie?” gasped Miraz. “Twice in one day. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Susan didn’t say anything, she just bit her lip, trying to remember the words that she had rehearsed in front of the mirror earlier.

“As it please, your Majesty, I wish to bend the knee before this court and pledge, not only my fealty but my life to your service,” as Susan said this, she lowered on one knee, letting her foot stick out behind the edge of her dress as it splayed out on the floor. “I do this, before you, before the court, the eradicate the noxious weed of treason that plagues my brother and spoils my House.” Miraz looked down on her and began to laugh. “All I ask of you, your Majesty, is mercy.”

Miraz laughed louder. “And do you deny your brother’s crime?”

Susan didn’t know what to say so just stared at the floor, thinking of a reply. What would Peter say?

“Such a sweet innocent child. And they do say wisdom comes from the mouth of babes,” Queen Prunaprismia piped up.

“Enough,” said Miraz, still looking down on Susan. “Is there anything else?”

Susan rose and looked at Miraz. “If you still hold affection in your heart for me, please hear my words.”

Miraz looked around at his subjects, his Queen, then his hand, Glozelle, and back to Susan. He smiled for a moment before it disappeared. “Your sweet words have moved me, Lady Pevensie. But your brother must confess.” Susan’s stomach dropped. Her words were not enough. “Your brother must confess and bend the knee to me… or there will be no mercy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramandu/Jorah   
> Lilliandil/Khal Drogo

**Chapter 10**

_The Lone Islands_

The Dawn Treader docked on the edges of Ramandu’s Island, better known as the Island of the Star to its inhabitants and those in the surrounding areas of the Lone Islands. It was called so because Ramandu himself, and his daughter, Lilliandil, were stars. How they could be living in human form, on Narnia’s great earth, Caspian didn’t know, but he had heard tales of Ramandu’s greatness that he assumed could only come from the human embodiment of a star. The island itself was beautiful, an oasis at the world’s end, with rich foliage and pearly white sands that the group admired as they walked from the coast further into the forest to find Ramandu. Glenstorm, who was at the front of the party, held out a map, turning in around and around.

“But what if he turns us away?” asked Caspian to Glenstorm, making sure to whisper to his first mate. “He might want nothing to do with us, and then what?”

“He won’t. He’s a true Narnian,” replied Glenstorm, rolling up the map into a small cylinder in his fist.

“Are you sure?” asked Caspian.

Glenstorm nodded in front of them. “See for yourself,” he smirked, gesturing to a clearing in the luscious woodlands where a man stood waiting for them.

The clearing was surrounded by the vines of a willow tree, that gently waved in the breeze. Ramandu was an old man with long white hair that cascaded down his back and a beard that matched. The edges of his beard meshed with the edges of his hair, creating a silvery cloak that hung all around him. Caspian could see that underneath he wore majestic robes with rich patterns that had probably been made and imported from Calormen. Ramandu was grinning to himself, the creases of his eyes forming cracks on his kind face.

“King Caspian,” said Ramandu, gesturing with his hands. “You have come.”

“You were expecting me?” asked Caspian, unable to hide his awe.

Ramandu looked to the sky above him. “It has been foretold. It is known.”

“I am very pleased to see you, Sir,” said Caspian, not forgetting his manners.

“Please, it is I that should be pleased,” said Ramandu, walking forward to greet the group. Over his shoulder, Caspian could see a beautiful woman that was hiding behind the trunk of the willow tree. Her hair was the same as her father’s, silvery, long and flowing, like mist on the river in the early morning, but her face was round and youthful. Ramandu followed Caspian’s eye line. “My daughter, Lilliandil,” he said. “She is also a star.”

“You’re a star too,” said Caspian, looking back to Ramandu.

“I am,” he nodded.

“I suppose then you are already aware why I have come here, Ramandu,” Caspian said.

“Indulge me,” smiled Ramandu, turning away from the group and gesturing for Caspian to walk with him. The King did so, walking next to the star further into the woodland, parting the willow branches with his hands as Ramandu led him deeper and deeper into the forest.

“My first mate, Glenstorm, says you are a true Narnian,” said Caspian, trying to keep up with Ramandu.

“I am,” nodded Ramandu. “I pray to Aslan every day that he will restore Narnia to its former glory. One where you are on the throne and Miraz has been… taken care of.”

“If you can read the stars, what does it say for my future?” asked Caspian, catching up to Ramandu. “Can it tell us what will be?”

“Yes, and no,” mused Ramandu. “It shows us some things and not others. And even then, some things change. The sky is a fluid creature, much like the waters it reflects. We must learn to ride on the uncertain wave of life, taking forth whatever washes up on our shores.”

Caspian gulped; his brows knitted together. “I would say I understand but I’m not so sure I do.”

Ramandu laughed. “Very well, your Majesty. I understand that what _will_ happen is at the forefront of your mind. Tell me, why have you come to my island today?”

Caspian stood tall, like his father had taught him, and pushed back his shoulders. “I need men,” he said simply. “I mean to sail back to Narnia and take back what is rightfully mine,” said Caspian. “I have true Narnians aboard my ship, of all kinds and races, but it is not enough. I need an army.”

Ramandu nodded, stroking his beard. “I see.”

“Glenstorm said to me that you might be able to help us. He says you have men,” added Caspian.

“I do have men,” agreed Ramandu. “And, of course, I think your cause is noble… but what will you give me in return?”

Caspian thought for a moment. “I cannot assume to know what a star needs or wants, Sir. But I have a proposal for you. Quite literally.”

He took in a sharp breath, remembering Glenstorm’s words. Lilliandil was beautiful, of course. And a marriage to Lilliandil could be a means to an end. A contract. But he couldn’t think of her as an object to behold like that. It wasn’t in his nature. But then again, it could get him the resources he needed to take back the throne. Then perhaps she would find someone more suitable at the capital and they could dissolve the marriage. But Edmund. Oh, _Edmund, Edmund, Edmund_. His name danced on the beat of his heart, twanging on his heartstrings. His stomach felt like it was going to fall out of him. He couldn’t betray Edmund like that. But then again, as much as he didn’t want to think about it, Edmund was probably dead.

“In exchange for mercenaries, I give to you my hand. My hand in marriage to your daughter,” said Caspian. “I am a King. She will have a wonderfully full life in Cair Paravel. She will want for nothing. And you can come and stay with us if it pleases you.”

“That sounds quite… intimate,” said Ramandu, his eyes sparkling. Ramandu looked back to where Lilliandil had been. Through the branches and leaves, they could see her sitting on a tree stump and absent-mindedly braiding her hair. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You have graced us with such an offer. To be the wife of a King is the greatest honour in Aslan’s world. But only if Lilliandil consents. I wouldn’t want to marry her off against her will.”

“Of course,” agreed Caspian, nodding.

“Let us talk more. I’ll have your men eat and be merry at Aslan’s Table,” said Ramandu, gently guiding Caspian with a hand on his back towards the Narnians again.

“Aslan’s Table?” gasped Caspian. “But that’s all the way back in Narnia, at the How.”

Ramandu chuckled, good-naturedly, as they walked through the crowd again. “Your Majesty, you have quite forgotten your Narnia lore. That is the Stone Table. Aslan’s Table bares entirely different fruit.”

Ramandu pushed another handful of long willow vines out of the way which revealed a long table that was stacked high with food.

Glenstorm appeared at Caspian’s shoulder. “Your Majesty?” he asked, nodding to the table with a cocked eyebrow.

Caspian looked over to Ramandu who laughed and nodded. “You may,” he said to the centaur, who galloped forward to eat like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

*

_The Wall_

After Edmund had waved Eustace off from the gates of The Wall, he went about his business, making sure the staffing rotations were well-timed, taking charge in Doctor Cornelius’s stead and allowing men respite from their posts when they needed it. This was what he had missed about adventuring with his siblings, the logistics of things, which had been taken away once Peter had the household of Winterfell under control. The one thing Edmund hadn’t accounted for was feeding the ravens. This had been one of Doctor Cornelius’s favourite jobs at The Wall, but Edmund couldn’t understand why. He needed to be where the action was, he always had done.

In the corner stood an elderly steward, who was known for muttering to himself, and did so as Edmund tossed out the feed to the birds. Edmund tried to tune him out but couldn’t, not where they were so well sheltered from the wind. He felt so on edge, listening to the gentle wittering of the man.

“What’s that you’re saying?” asked Edmund, finally biting.

“Oh, there you are lad,” said the steward, turning to him. “Say, did you ever wonder why the Night’s Watch take no wives and father no children?”

Edmund rolled his eyes. He really didn’t need another reminder of the oath. “Because of our honour to serve the realm.”

“So, they will not love,” said the man. Edmund turned to him. “Love is the death of duty. If the day should ever come when your brother was forced to choose between honour on the one hand and those he loves on the other, what would he do?”

Edmund bristled. “Peter isn’t at The Wall,” he said. “But to answer your question anyway, he would what was right, no matter what.”

“What is honour compared to a woman’s love?” mused the steward. “And what is duty compared to the feel of your new-born son in your arms? Yes, quite, quite,” he mumbled. “Lord Pevensie, what will you choose?”

“I’m no Lord,” snapped Edmund. “Not anymore. And I’ll never have to worry about a woman’s love. Or a son,” said Edmund, bitterly, throwing the feed down into the boxes before him. The ravens cooed in appreciation.

“That’s the right answer, lad.”

_Yes_ , Edmund thought, _but not for the reason you might think_.

Edmund looked out onto the snowy landscape. The weather had gotten worse and worse over the last few days, which wasn’t unusual for The North but was certainly unpleasant for those station on top of The Wall. Far out in the distance, Edmund noticed a ranger coming back towards The Wall. He reached for the horn but stopped, squinting his eyes to look a little closer. As the horse came forward into his eye line, he noticed it had no rider.

“No,” Edmund breathed, turning on his heels and hurrying towards the rickety wooden lift that took the stewards to the top of The Wall. He turned the wheel frantically, letting himself inside and then turned the wheel from inside the lift again to let him down. It felt like it was taking forever.

“Open the gates!” Edmund cried before he had even reached the bottom. Some stewards on ground level had done as he asked because as he opened the lift door and stepped onto the snow with a crunch, the horse had already run through the tunnel of The Wall and into the courtyard.

“Woah, boy!” Edmund cried, taking hold of the horse’s reigns, and trying to calm the frantic animal. “Woah, boy,” he said again, placing his hands on the horse’s head to relax it. It was then he noticed the silver clasps of the reigns, one that was only befitting of a man of status at The Wall.

“This is Doctor Cornelius’s horse,” cried Edmund to a nearby steward. “Where is he?” he asked, knowing full well that the horse did not come through the gates with a rider. He had seen it with his own eyes. None of the stewards answered him. “I’m going to find him,” announced Edmund, swinging his leg up and over the horse’s saddle.

“It’s too dangerous,” a steward finally said. “The weather is getting worse –,”

“I don’t care. I have to find him,” Edmund cried.

But before he could set off, Snow, Edmund’s direwolf, galloped through the tunnel, just like the horse had done that preceded him. Edmund saw something in Snow’s mouth and clambered down from the saddle.

“What is it, Snow?” he asked, now trying to catch the wolf who was circulating his legs.

“He got that from the tunnel,” the steward said, pointing to what Snow had in his mouth. But Edmund’s eyes couldn’t fix on it.

“Give it here,” Edmund told Snow, holding his hand out, but the moment he realised what it truly was, he retracted his hand quickly. It was a frozen, dead arm. “Stars above!” He cried. Snow dropped the arm at Edmund’s feet and sat down, expecting to be petted.

The steward walked forward. “Is that?”

Edmund gulped. “Yeah, it is.”

The steward covered his mouth to keep from vomiting. Edmund crouched closer to inspect it.

“Probably been dead a few days,” another steward said, looking over Edmund’s shoulder.

Edmund thought at first that the steward was probably right. “But…” he trailed off, the cogs of his mind turning over and over. “It doesn’t smell. Surely if the body had been dead a few days there would be rot. And look,” he said pointing to where the arm had been attached at the elbow. “There’s no muscle and bone poking out.”

“Quite right,” the steward nodded. “It needs examining.”

Edmund got up and turned to the Steward. “It must have been attached to the reigns somehow and fallen off as it came through,” mused Edmund, looking at the tunnel. “I’ve seen this before, in a picture. I think it came from one of Doctor Cornelius’s books in his office. Something to do with White Walkers.”

“White Walkers?” exclaimed another steward. “What the fuck are White Walkers?”

“I don’t know exactly what they are,” said Edmund, looking down at the arm again. “Something about their eyes turning blue and only fire can stop them... or Dragonglass. They can’t be killed by normal means.”

“Sounds deadly.”

“They live beneath the ice for thousands of years and when they wake up…” Edmund’s words trailed off. The steward tried to catch his eye, but Edmund was deep in thought. “Someone must have woken them.” Edmund inhaled deeply and then turned to talk to the steward. “Take this arm, wrap it in furs, travel to Cair Paravel and lay it at the feet of King Miraz. Tell him the Night’s Watch say we have a much bigger fight to worry about, far greater than this game of thrones.”

“But who woke them?” the steward asked. “Do you have any idea who?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Edmund gulped. “Snow and ice are… sort of her thing.” Edmund knew he had to get a raven to Peter immediately. “She’s back. And Winter is coming,” he said gravely. “Winter _is_ coming.”

_Intermission_

Lucy had been preparing for this moment all day. She had snuck down into the laundry to steal Telmarine leathers, and replace them with her own clothes, and taken out her hidden satchel filled with weapons from its nook behind her bed. She had knotted the drapes by candlelight and then slung them over her shoulder as she edged her way along from her chamber window to Susan’s, along the rickety stones of the castle, feeling the wind whip her hair and telling herself not to look down.

She knew that Susan’s window would be open, just like it was every night. Leaving the roped bed sheets on the window ledge, she hurried over to Susan who was, of course, in bed and sound asleep. Lucy, in comparison, hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since she came to Cair Paravel.

Gently, she shook her sister awake. “Susan,” she whispered, softly.

Susan roused, her eyelids fluttering open. “Mmm, what? Lucy?” she gasped in hushed tones.

“Don’t say anything, just listen,” Lucy replied, matching her volume. “Listen. I’m leaving. I won’t bend the knee to Miraz, and I won’t pretend either –,”

“Lucy –,”

“No, listen,” She urged, pressing her hands down on Susan’s shoulders. “I won’t tell you where I’m going so that if Miraz asks you genuinely don’t know. I won’t put you in danger like that.”

“But –,”

“I know. I can’t send ravens. I can’t let you know I’m okay because they’ll find me and if they find me, they can use you against me. Susan,” Lucy breathed, taking her sister into her arms. “Caspian is alive,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “You told me that, didn’t you? It wasn’t just a dream.”

“Yes, Miraz told me he’s alive,” Susan replied.

Lucy sat back. “I have to find Edmund. I have to tell him, Peter and Eustace, too.”

Susan’s eyes began to fill with tears. “I know,” she nodded. “But I need you, Lucy.”

“No, you don’t,” Lucy smiled. “You have Jill. You know what you need to do to survive. I am not begrudging you your choices but I’m not you. We have never been alike. That’s not me. I can’t sit by and stomach it like you can.”

Susan nodded. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Lucy replied, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Look after Cordelia for me. I’ll find some way to get a message to you. One way or another, with some kind of cypher. One they won’t crack.”

“Okay,” Susan breathed. “But be safe. Don’t be rash. Try and get back to Peter if you can. Let him know –,”

“I know,” Lucy nodded. “I’ll tell him.” They hugged again, and Lucy planted a kiss on her sister’s head. She got up from the bed and yanked a strip of mesh from the curtain. She tied her hair up with it. “If I’m in trouble, I’ll send this,” she said, pointing to the mesh that knotted her hair. “Then you’ll know.”

“And what will I be able to do?” asked Susan.

Lucy shrugged. “I know you’ll figure something out. You always do. That’s what I’ve always loved most about you.”

With one last smile, Lucy picked up the knotted the sheet, tied it around the curtain hook, climbed onto the windowsill and disappeared into the night.

To be continued in Part Two.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sopespian/Jaime/Tyrion

PART TWO

**Chapter 11**

_Cair Paravel_

It had been twelve hours since Lucy had disappeared through the window of Susan’s chamber, and out into the eery night. Every quiet moment from that point on was filled with Susan wondering where her sister was, whether or not she was okay, and how far north she had made it.

At breakfast, the morning after, Susan had sat at the long dining table. None of the other members of the Miraz household ever joined her, so she spent her time idly looking at the map of Narnia, spread over a thick tapestry that covered one of the stone walls. Usually, Susan kept her eyes on the mark where Winterfell was, but now her eyes darted around where the castle was placed, on the east by the shore. Lucy hadn’t told Susan the route she would take to get home, but if she was as smart as Susan thought she was, she’d go through the Owl Wood first.

Susan pushed the plate away, nodding to one of the servants. “Thank you,” she said. As she stood, the doors opened, and in walked Glozelle.

“Lady Pevensie,” he said and gave a courteous nod.

Susan dipped, putting one foot behind the other. “General Glozelle.”

“Have you seen your sister this morning?” he asked.

Susan’s neck felt red hot. “No, I haven’t. Is everything alright?”

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” he mused. “I just usually see her passing in the courtyard before breakfast.”

“Lucy likes to feed the horses,” replied Susan, trying to stop her mouth from drying up.

“Perhaps she forgot today.”

“Perhaps,” Susan agreed. “Now that you mention it, I think she told me last night she wanted to go to the market early. Before the crowds got too big before the tournament.”

“Very wise,” nodded Glozelle. “Until then, Lady Pevensie.”

He nodded again and then existed, leaving Susan alone with her thudding heartbeat.

Later that day, when the tournament was in full swing, Susan sat on the veranda at the back of the castle next to Prince Nathaniel, who lazed across his chair. Cordelia and Beau, the direwolves, sat at her feet, the group of them looking out onto the horizon. To her left was the apple orchard, giving anything to be there in the shade of the trees rather than here, on a stiff wooden chair under the glaring sun. The canopy that had been constructed earlier that day did nothing for those sitting underneath, except shield them from the sun’s rays.

Susan looked down at the wolves. Cordelia hadn’t been herself since her mistress left, but was comforted, at least, by the presence of her pup sibling, Beau. Susan knew Lucy couldn’t have taken Cordelia with her, not if she wanted to be inconspicuous to potential Telmarine spies. A direwolf would have given her sister away in a heartbeat.

Two men were circling each other. Susan was tired of the duels now, but Nathaniel was still enthralled by two men poking each other with swords. The veranda was filled with clanging armour, gasps from the crowd and rattles of swords. Nathaniel stood up, as another man crashed to the floor, wallowing in the excitement of the armoured bodies crashing to the ground. Susan winced every time. It grated on her, the clashing sound of metal that reverberated off the stone walls of the castle behind them. 

“Well struck!” Nathaniel cried to the winner of the duel. He turned to Susan, who had averted her eyes. “Did you like that?”

“It was well struck, your Majesty,” said Susan, almost robotically.

“I already said it was well struck,” snapped Nathaniel. Susan admitted to herself that she been Nathaniel’s parrot a lot today, but truly she didn’t know what she was supposed to say. _Yes, your Majesty, I quite like the part where he stabbed the man through the eye. Or the part when he managed to decapitate his already dead opponent for fun._ Susan breathed through her irritation and forced a smile. She would have to engage with what was happening to keep Nathaniel’s temper from rising.

“Yes, your Majesty,” she replied, with a sigh, and found she was unable to hold her demeanour.

“Who’s next?” boomed Nathaniel.

The compare stepped forward with a Knight. “Ser Arlian, your Majesty, versus Ser Gregoire.” There was a round of applause as Ser Arlian stepped forward, waving his sword like an extension of his hand. He clasped his helmet under his chin and pushed his visor down, ready for action. The compare looked to his other side, expecting Lord Gregoire to appear but he didn’t. The compare cleared his throat. “Versus Ser Gregoire!” But the Knight did not appear, and the crowd fell silent.

A second later, a man staggered in, pushing his helmet down onto his head. “Sorry, your Majesty,” he said, flustered.

Nathaniel looked the Knight up and down. “Are you drunk?” he scoffed.

“No, your Majesty. Two cups.”

Nathaniel nodded and considered what the Lord said. “Two cups. That’s not much. Please, have another,” he said, gesturing to a jug on the table in front of him that was still full of wine.

Ser Gregoire looked from the jug, back to Nathaniel, eyeing it suspiciously. Susan willed Ser Gregoire not to take the wine.

“Are you sure, your Majesty?” he asked, licking his lips at the sight of the wine. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Please, have as much as you like,” said Nathaniel. Susan could tell his voice was dripping with false sincerity now.

“I would be honoured, your Majesty,” Ser Gregoire said, stepping forward.

“Help him,” Nathaniel called to the guards standing nearby. “Make sure he drinks his fill.” One of the guards caught eye contact with Nathaniel, who nodded, confirming to him exactly what he wanted the guard to do.

Two men took Ser Gregoire by the arms and forced him to his knees. Another brought over a funnel and another close behind brought a barrel of wine.

“No,” Susan whispered under her breath when she realised what was happening. “You can’t,” she told Nathaniel, looking to him, pleading with him.

“Did you just say I can’t?” he asked her, genuinely astounded.

“What I mean is, it’s bad luck to kill a man on the day of a tournament, your Majesty,” said Susan, trying to find a reason quickly for her disgust. “It means that none of your bets will win. At least that’s what it means in The North.”

“We aren’t in The North,” spat Nathaniel, but his ears pricked up at the sound of the Lords behind him murmuring in agreement.

Nathaniel considered this and then held up his hand for the men to stop. “Very well. Take him away. I’ll have him killed tomorrow, the fool.” He muttered.

Susan thought on his words a moment. “You’re right, your Majesty,” said Susan, turning in her chair towards him. “How clever you are to see it. He would make a much better fool than a Knight. He does not deserve the mercy of a quick death.”

Nathaniel studied Susan for a moment and then broke out into a smile. “You hear that?” he called over her shoulder to where the man was vomiting wine onto the stone in front of him. “My Lady says you shall be my new fool.”

Once Ser Gregoire was done coughing and spluttering, he turned to where they sat. “Thank you, your Majesty. And to you, my Lady, thank you.”

The guards took Ser Gregoire away, pulling him across the stone back inside the castle, with his feet dragging along behind him.

Nathaniel reached over and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, caressing the beautiful ringlets of her hair. “You will do well here, Susan,” he said to her softly. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “And you know just when to shut your mouth.”

Susan said nothing, wondering if she had heard him correctly, but when Nathaniel sat back and admired the bloodlust of the tournament, she knew she had. 

*

Inside Cair Paravel, Miraz, Prunaprismia and General Glozelle held a small council in the meeting room of the castle. There was a great wooden table, made from rich mahogany that stretched the length of the room. The high-backed chairs were stitched finely with velvet, complimenting the gold-embossed carvings of which the chair was made. From the ceiling, a great chandelier hung that illuminated the whole room. When the sunlight hit the glass just right the room sparkled like diamonds.

At the head of the table sat Miraz, looking bored as usual, whilst the other members of the council talked about pressing issues of the city. If Glozelle agreed upon it, then so did Miraz, as in his eyes Glozelle was the one with his head screwed on right. It was the reason he’d made him his Hand.

“Your Majesty,” said Glozelle, who woke Miraz from his daydream.

“Yes, Glozelle?” said Miraz, shaking the glaze from his eyes.

“We were just discussing the citizens of the capital. We need your advice.”

Miraz sighed. “Isn’t the point of this council for you to give me advice?” The Lords looked amongst themselves, not wanting to speak honestly about the fact that truthfully, they were the ones making all the decisions about Narnia, and Miraz reaped the benefits. “Very well,” Miraz replied with a wave of his hand. “Continue.”

“The city is drowning in peasants, your Majesty,” said Glozelle. “They cannot find work.”

“Why?”

“Because when we came from Telmar we took all their jobs,” replied Glozelle, tentatively. “And we have nowhere to house them.”

“Why?”

Glozelle sighed. “Because when we came from Telmar we took their houses.”

“I see a pattern emerging here,” said Miraz, rubbing his eyes. “Glozelle – you are the Hand of the King, are you not?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And you are head of the Kingsguard, are you not, Lord Sopespian?”

“I am, your Majesty,” nodded the Lord.

“And both of you are not Lords at my command?”

The men murmured in agreement.

“We owe our lands and titles to your generosity, your Majesty,” Lord Sopespian piped up.

“Then do your job!” shouted Miraz, pointing his finger at them both. “Shut the gates to those peasants. They belong in the woods, not in our capital.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” both men muttered. 

“What is next on the agenda?” asked Miraz, looking down at the parchment that was strewn across the table.

“We have heard nothing from Lord Pevensie of Winterfell,” said Glozelle. “No ravens have arrived from The North.”

“Ha!” spat Miraz. “Buying time, I expect. He’s a coward is Lord Pevensie. A coward and nothing else. Not that I’m surprised.”

“If we force his hand, we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that the entire North could rise up against us,” said Glozelle.

“Lord Peter is a child!” Miraz cried.

“He is not to be underestimated,” said Lord Sopespian. “Before we invaded, he won every battle he ever fought.”

“Exactly,” Miraz laughed. “Before we invaded.” The Lords fell silent, not knowing how to make their case any clearer. Miraz shrugged. “We have his sisters,” he said. “We hold the ultimate card in our decks. Peter won’t do a thing as long as we have them both at the castle. He won’t risk it.”

“I believe we have one sister,” Lord Sopespian said. Glozelle gave him daggers with his eyes.

Miraz’s eyes grew wide. “One?” His wrath was building.

Glozelle cleared his throat. “Lucy, the little animal. She disappeared. Lady Pevensie said –,”

Miraz slammed his fists on the table. “She disappeared?! What, in a puff of smoke? We had two Pevensie’s to trade and now we have one?!”

Miraz sat back, running his hands through his hair, pushing the heels of his hands against his head. “Where is she?!” he cried again.

“We don’t know,” gulped Glozelle.

“THEN FIND HER!” bellowed Miraz. “Before I find a spike outside the castle with your name on it.” And with that, Miraz got up and stalked out of the meeting room without another word. He had to find that girl, otherwise he would have lost his hand to Peter Pevensie, and he couldn’t – no, he would not – lose to a child.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puddleglum/Tormund

**Chapter 12**

_The Wild Lands of the North_

Edmund and a few men from the Night’s Watch had set out early that morning, into the unknown. _This was it_ , thought Edmund, he would finally know what it was like beyond The Wall, what the snowy landscape held, and if these White Walkers were a thing of mythology or a very real threat. He couldn’t wait to send a raven to Peter and Eustace letting them know what it was like. It was something they had discussed so many times when none of them could sleep, fantasising about whether or not the stories that Doctor Cornelius told them were true. So many times, he and Caspian had talked about running away together, over The Wall and into the Wildlands, just the two of them, with nothing but a tent and rations. It hurt Edmund’s heart that although he was finally making the trip it was with the absence of Caspian’s hand in his, but at least now he would finally know whether living beyond The Wall was just a pipe dream, or something feasible. For Doctor Cornelius’s sake, he hoped it was.

As the gates of The Wall opened, Edmund and his men stepped out into the deep snow, mounting their horses, and setting off at a gentle trot. The snow wasn’t too deep at the moment, but Edmund knew the further north they went, further into the wild, the snow would be a different enemy altogether.

“What’s the plan, Edmund?” a man asked, riding alongside him. Edmund’s eagerness to find Doctor Cornelius had made him de facto leader of the mission.

“We’ll ride forward as far as we can, keeping an eye out for any clues as to Doctor Cornelius’s whereabouts, then make camp. Keep your eyes out for White Walkers, although I’m sure in the books I read it said that they’re nocturnal,” said Edmund.

“And what do we do if we find any White Walkers?” the man asked.

“We’ll be frozen before we have time to think,” another brother piped up.

“We fight them, burn them with fire if we can,” replied Edmund. “That’s what Doctor Cornelius’s book said. Fire or Dragonglass.”

“And where are we going to find fire or Dragonglass in a place like this?” the brother scoffed.

Edmund sighed. “Like I said, the books seem to think that White Walkers only come out at night. If we keep our fires burning through the night –,”

“It’ll make it easier for them to come and find us?” laughed the brother.

Edmund turned in his saddle to him. “Our mission is to find Doctor Cornelius, killing White Walkers will just be an added bonus. And besides, we don’t know for sure if they’re real. All we found was a frozen hand, and I put two and two together. I’ve got no qualms about being wrong. If you don’t want to help us find Doctor Cornelius, then go back to The Wall. No one will stop you.” The brother said nothing and held his pace. Edmund turned back in his saddle and the group carried on trotting.

The group carried on for a while, finding it hard to tell exactly how much ground they had covered as everywhere under snow looked the same. The only way they knew they weren’t going around in circles was because when Edmund looked back there was a straight line of footprints leading behind them. Edmund had stuffed the copy of Doctor Cornelius’s map back into his bag long ago, as even though the Doctor had charted and cleared some areas of the Wildlands, Edmund couldn’t make head nor tail of the wildwood. Eventually, they stumbled across a small hut made of sticks. One of the men nodded to Edmund and pointed over to it, not wanting to speak in case whatever was inside wasn’t friendly.

“I know that hut,” whispered Edmund to the man. “I’ve seen it made before out of hay before, rather than sticks.” The man looked confused. “Marshwiggles,” Edmund nodded.

“I’ve never seen a Marshwiggle before,” the man said.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “I’m from Archenland. We don’t have Marshwiggles.”

“Bloody Southerners,” laughed Edmund, and the man laughed with him.

Just then a Marshwiggle came out from his hut made of sticks, carrying a small pot and some firewood.

“That’s Puddleglum,” said Edmund, hopping down from his horse and wading his way through the snow towards the Marshwiggle. “Puddleglum, is that you?” he cried.

“Who’s there?” asked Puddleglum, brandishing a stick as a weapon.

“It’s me, Edmund Pevensie,” he said, stepping closer.

“Edmund?” gasped Puddleglum.

“Yes, Puddleglum. Have I changed that much?”

Puddleglum shook his head. “We are all changing so much these days. It’s a trouble to keep up.”

Edmund nodded to his men to dismount and join them. “Can we join you?” he asked.

“Who are they?” asked Puddleglum, nodding to the men who were walking towards them.

“Brothers of the Night’s Watch,” replied Edmund. “And I am, too.”

“Ah, took the vow, did you?” nodded Puddleglum. “What brings the brothers of the Night’s Watch out here, beyond The Wall?”

“It’s quite a long story really,” Edmund said, running his fingers through his hair. “We’re looking for a place to stop. If we could make camp here for the night, with you, that would be great,” said Edmund. “And we’d be happy to share our food and wine. Then we could tell you all about it.”

“Wine, you say?” mused Puddleglum. “Make yourselves at home.”

The few men sat down on nearby logs and dug in their satchels for the promised food and wine. The rest of the men looked for more sticks for the fire and logs to sit on. Others started clearing the snow for a place to pitch their tents. Edmund sat down next to Puddleglum who was arranging his firewood.

“So, tell me, Edmund, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?” asked Puddleglum, putting down the logs to take a flask from Edmund’s outstretched hand.

“I don’t think you’ll agree it’s a pleasure after I tell you. We’re looking for Doctor Cornelius,” said Edmund, who took the flask back from Puddleglum after he’d swigged from it. “He went on a mission North of The Wall and only his horse returned.”

Puddleglum looked confused. “Only his horse?”

“Yes,” nodded Edmund, as he passed the flask back to the Marshwiggle. “He’s missing. We’ve come to look for him.”

“Hmm,” mused Puddleglum, stroking his chin.

“Have you seen him, or heard from him?” Edmund asked.

Puddleglum took a long swig from the flask. “Doctor Cornelius sent a raven a while ago. In his plans he said he wanted to visit on his way to Harfang,” he said. He rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a small piece of parchment which he handed to Edmund.

Edmund took it and looked over the scroll. It had the Night’s Watch black seal that had been broken upon opening and Doctor Cornelius’s tell-tale scrawl.

“Did he make it to you?” asked Edmund, rolling it up again.

“No,” Puddleglum shook his head. “No, he never made it.”

Edmund sighed, and took the flask back. “We haven’t seen any sign of him up until here. Is it possible he went another route?”

“People change their plans all the time,” said Puddleglum with a shrug. “I’m sure he had much more pressing matters than visiting an old Marshwiggle.”

Edmund nodded, but couldn’t help but think that something terrible, and awful, had happened to his good friend Doctor Cornelius.

*

_Cair Paravel_

Susan sat in The Throne Room of Cair Paravel, once again, watching Miraz take court. This time, he wasn’t seeing to the wishes of his subjects, but to their crimes instead. Susan would rather have been anywhere else. She could forgive Miraz for begrudgingly granting the civilians requests to ease their ails, because at least he eventually did it even with prompting, but she could not forgive him the bloodthirsty sentences he bestowed upon so-called criminals. Since her time at the castle, under Miraz’s reign, she had witnessed many maimed or even die under Miraz’s torturous rulings.

A man knelt before Miraz, in the middle of The Throne Room, singing a song he had written and performed in a tavern that disrespected the King and his choices. Unfortunately, the song was long, the singer had been riffing off the crowd at the Inn and so had added verses upon verses at their request. The singer had been tasked with singing this vile slander before the court. His voice was rough from the beatings the Kingsguard had given him. His charm and charisma had been erased.

As the singer stopped, Miraz rose and clapped.

“I’m so sorry, your Majesty,” said the man, half-collapsed on the floor. “I’ll never sing it again.”

“Tell me, which do you favour? Your fingers or your tongue?” asked Miraz, sitting back down again and picking his nails.

“Your Majesty?”

“Which would it be?” asked Miraz, nonchalantly. “Or I could just cut your throat?”

Susan’s heart dropped. This wasn’t the way of a King; this was the way of a murderer.

The man stammered. “Every man needs hands, your Majesty, to do an honest day’s work.”

“Tongue it is then,” said Miraz, nodding to Lord Sopespian. He stepped forward and took hold of the man’s jaw.

“Please! Your Majesty!” the man cried.

“Glozelle, see that it is done,” said Miraz, getting up from the throne. “I’m done for the day.”

Glozelle unhooked a pair of tweezers from a belt belonging to a nearby blacksmith and walked forward towards the man. For a moment, Susan dared not look, but then remembered her words to Lucy, words that felt like she had spoken years ago on the moors outside Winterfell. _Don’t look away_ , Susan said to herself, _he’ll know if you do_. She looked up, making sure her eyes made contact with the man whose tongue was being clamped between the tweezers. Her face hardened as she watched Glozelle take out a small hunting knife and raised it above his head. The blade slashed, followed by a sickening gurgle and Glozelle held the tongue high in the air for everyone to see. Susan wanted to be sick but managed to hold herself together. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled to steady herself.

Miraz appeared at her side. “Lady Susan, walk with me. I have something to show you,” he said.

Susan nodded and got up from her seat, ringside at the bloodbath. Miraz took her hand in his and led her out of The Throne Room into the Northern Corridor. They walked a little way in silence before he dropped her hand. “I was wondering if I might ask you a favour,” he asked.

Susan tensed up. This was a trap. She kept her composure. “Your Majesty, you flatter me. Of course, what can I assist you with?”

“Your sister, Lucy. We can’t seem to locate her,” said Miraz, his voice a gentle musing, but Susan knew underneath he was aflame with rage. He always was.

“She’s missing?” gasped Susan, playing the part. “I thought perhaps she had been keeping herself to herself. You know what she’s like -,”

Miraz put his hand up to stop her and Susan obeyed. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know, your Majesty.”

“If you are lying to me, I will know,” spat Miraz.

“Your Majesty, I could never.” Miraz turned and walked a little way further. Susan began to sweat beneath her silks. “If she’s left the capital, Winterfell seems the logical destination.”

“And yet my friends in The North report no sign of her,” countered Miraz.

They turned and entered the large courtyard at the front of the castle, which Susan had only seen once on her arrival to Cair Paravel and felt like a very long time ago now. The courtyard was busy, just like it would be at Winterfell, and Susan’s eyes filled with tears longing for her home in The North. There were clear differences, obviously. Mud was replaced with dust and stones, dark wood was replaced with light sandstone, and thick heavy furs were replaced with light silks. As they passed, everyone stopped and bowed. When at Winterfell, Susan was one of them. She would exchange their bows for camaraderie in a heartbeat.

They walked up the stone steps to the top of the battlements and looked out onto the landscape of the capital. It had collapsed into squalor; the poverty was clear enough to see even from the distance of which they were standing. _Peter would be furious_ , thought Susan. _I am furious. How could he do this to our people?_

“You see, the thing is,” purred Miraz. “If your sister isn’t here, I can’t protect her. She might be found by some wild, savage animals and be eaten alive. She might be raped and killed. And we wouldn’t want that to happen now, would we?” Miraz’s smile was sickly sweet. Susan tried to hide her disdain as he slithered around her like a snake. “So, I need to know where she is, as soon as possible.”

“The animals in Narnia aren’t savages,” said Susan through gritted teeth as they walked along the battlements. “And I don’t believe there is anyone so cruel in Narnia who would rape and kill her.”

“Really?” asked Miraz, as he came to a stop and turned her body so that she gazed upon the heads that were on spikes at the front of the castle. Every spike was filled with the head of an Old Narnian. Satyrs, Fauns, Minotaurs, Dwarfs, and more. Miraz had killed them all.

Susan cried out, covering her mouth and eyes but Miraz wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hands away and forcing her to look upon her friends.

“I gave them a clean death, if it pleases you, Lady Pevensie,” spat Miraz into her ear, hissing every word.

She shrugged him off, knowing what she had to do. “How long do I have to look?” she asked.

“As long as it pleases me,” replied Miraz. “And when I find Caspian, I’m going to put his head on a spike as well.”

“Or maybe he’ll do that to you,” quipped Susan before she could think through her retort.

Miraz turned her to look at him and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. She cried out in pain and clutched her cheek.

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” sobbed Susan. “I forgot myself.”

The sound that had ricocheted around the courtyard had made many of the workers stop and stare up at them. Miraz snarled down on them, like a beast that had bested its prey. Susan looked down as well, wondering if, once everyone looked away, she could feign a trip and accidentally fall into Miraz’s body, pushing him from the unguarded battlements onto the courtyard below. At this point, she didn’t even care if she went with him. Before she could decide, Miraz turned to her again. “Will you obey now? Or will you need another lesson?”

Susan gulped, about to answer, but Miraz stalked away from her. “Take some time to locate your sister. I would very much appreciate it,” he said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shasta(Cor)/Gendry

**Chapter 13**

_The Owl Wood_

It had taken Lucy the best part of the night to make it to The Owl Wood, which was north of where she started from Cair Paravel. She had hoped she would reach there by daylight so that the dense tree trunks and full foliage of the woods could protect her from anything or anyone dangerous, not that she had seen a single soul so far on her journey.

She climbed a tree and found a branch that was thick enough to hold her weight. Grabbing some vines from a nearby willow, she wrapped them around her legs to secure herself in place for a few hours of sleep before she planned to continue on. But Lucy was still running on adrenaline, and after a few minutes of huffing and puffing, trying to get comfy, she resigned herself to the fact that she should just keep walking for now.

Eventually, she stumbled across a small stream and decided to stop to have a drink and a rest. Her compass let her know she had been continuously walking north, as was her plan. Hopefully, she would reach the Northern Marsh and then turn east until she found the great river. When she did that, she just had to follow it north again to Winterfell.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the crunching of the leaves as someone appeared next to her. She crawled back in surprise, ready to hide until she noticed that her intruder wore the same Telmarine clothes as her. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucy remembered that she was disguised as a Telmarine, and showing fear towards the person in question would only make her look suspicious.

“You scared me,” she said, clutching her chest, and forcing a smile across her lips. “Who are you?” she asked, trying to temper her question with genuine intrigue.

“Who are _you_?” the boy countered, bending low to the river, and scooping up a bucket which Lucy assumed was for his horse that stood patiently next to a nearby tree.

“I’m no one,” replied Lucy. “I’m just getting a drink and I’ll be on my way.”

“Jumpy aren’t you,” the boy smirked. “Where are you off to?”

“North,” gulped Lucy, wishing he would just get his pale of water and leave. “You?”

“North,” he nodded.

Lucy swore under her breath, but not loud enough for her new companion to hear. “Bit off the beaten track, aren’t you?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Surely the most direct route is passing through the Old Camps and then crossing at Beruna.”

“I could say the same for you,” he said, getting up with his bucket and taking it over to his horse. He gently caressed the horse’s nose and it bent to drink. “What are you going north for?” he asked.

Lucy swore again. She had left in such a hurry that she hadn’t thought of a backstory. “I’m on the King’s errand. I’m going to Winterfell as a cupbearer. What about you?”

The boy nodded north. “I’m going to The Wall.”

“Why?” 

“The King wants eyes there.”

“So, you’re a spy?” Lucy asked, feeling her heart rate quicken.

“Sort of,” he shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

“Sort of.”

“So, what brings you to The Owl Wood?” the boy asked, walking back over to Lucy, and sitting down next to her at the edge of the stream. “As you’ve said it’s not the most direct route to The North.”

“No, it’s not but I don’t have a horse,” she said, nodding to the boy’s steed who was eagerly lapping up the water. “So, my journey will be a long one. I need to keep in mind places to keep cover if the weather turns.”

“That’s a good idea,” the boy nodded.

“But I might ask you the same question. If you have a horse, why are you taking the long way around?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Just then, they both heard voices nearing. Lucy shuffled on her bottom to hide behind a tree with a wide root and the boy turned on his stomach, pressing himself into the ground.

“Psst!” he said to the horse, who seemed to understand him. The horse looked up and the boy waved his hand towards the floor. The horse laid down on the ground and played dead. Lucy watched this exchange and shot a confused look at the boy, who pressed a finger to his lips. 

The voices neared, and through the trees, Lucy could see that they were Telmarine soldiers. If they just stayed still and didn’t make a sound, then they wouldn’t be found. It felt like ages that they were there playing statues, but Lucy knew that there was a chance that Miraz had noticed she was gone and had sent men to look for her.

“Why are you hiding?” the boy whispered, shattering her plan of silence. “I thought you were a Telmarine?”

Lucy’s brain clicked into gear. Yes, she was supposed to be a Telmarine, so why was she hiding? But, more to the point, the boy was also supposed to be a Telmarine so why was he hiding?

“ _I thought you were a Telmarine_?!” she countered, looking at his clothes. Lucy shut up then, knowing they couldn’t pass off their whispers as echoes of the wind if they carried on. After a few minutes, the voices subsided, and Lucy couldn’t see any more soldiers through the gaps in the trees. “I think it’s safe,” she said, although her voice was still a whisper.

“Yes, I think so,” the boy said, sitting up. He crawled over to his horse like a bear to where it still lay on the ground. He kissed the size of its head and whispered to it. The horse got up and shook the leaves from its back, and the boy got up too, stretching out his arms and legs, but still on guard, looking around for any more intruders.

Lucy shuffled out from behind the tree root and took in a few deep breaths. She didn’t like close calls.

“I guess that’s it then,” the boy said quietly, walking back over to her.

“What do you mean?” asked Lucy, turning to him.

The boy looked accusatory. “Well, if you’re not a Telmarine, perhaps you should tell me who you really are.”

Lucy gulped.

*

_The Lone Islands_

The crew of the Dawn Treader had eaten and drunk at Aslan’s table until they were full up to their necks. Caspian hadn’t seen a sight like it since he’d had his last feast at Cair Paravel. The table had been rich with foods of all varieties and colours, and every animal that he knew sat at his table with the Pevensies. The wine was poured like water, the sound of laughter reverberated across every wall, the candles flickered and danced in the shadows. A sight like it reminded him of all the goodness he was trying to reach across the sea. It made him hungrier for it, than ever before. He would get back to Narnia and reclaimed his throne, even if he died trying.

“Come,” a voice whispered to him. Caspian turned in his chair and saw Ramandu with his hand outstretched. Caspian took it, getting up and walking away from the group, following Ramandu into the wilderness of the island. The two men walked further from the party into the luscious green woods, but this time in a different direction to where they had dropped the anchor. “We must talk about your plans, Caspian,” Ramandu said, once the lively chatter of the group had subsided and Caspian could hear the gentle ticking of the crickets in the grass, like a clock reminding him just to wait that little bit longer.

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Caspian. “I have been thinking a lot about the best strategy to take back the throne. With your men, I’ll be able to sail to Narnia and take back the Kingdom.”

“Yes, but how?” asked Ramandu. “It’s all well and good knowing what you want to achieve, but you need to know how you are going to get there. Remember you must not be too hasty.”

Caspian thought for a moment. “I need to find the Pevensies. I need to find out if they’re still alive.”

“Very good,” nodded Ramandu. “And if they are.”

“We should go to them. If they are alive then I’m sure they are already making arrangements to invade. I know they won’t lie back and accept Miraz as their ruler.”

“You need to consider the possibility that they have bent the knee to him,” replied Ramandu, with a hand on Caspian’s shoulder. “Not because they want to, but because it might be their only choice for survival.”

“I wouldn’t blame them if they did,” said Caspian. “They cannot protect Narnia if they are dead. I would have done the same.”

Ramandu nodded again. “How do you plan on approaching Narnia without raising the alarm? I’m sure galleons on the horizon of Narnia would make Miraz quite… concerned.”

“I propose we hide our ships behind Galma. It’s not far from Narnia and under the cover of nightfall, perhaps when the sky it cloudy, we row to the shore,” replied Caspian, letting the plan fall in place in his mind’s eye.

“Very well,” said Ramandu. “We need to get a message to the Pevensies. We need to let them know our plans and where to find them.”

“How can we do that without putting them in danger?” asked Caspian.

“I will send one of my most trusted advisors to Narnia,” said Ramandu. “They will be the messenger. Miraz will be expecting ravens he can intercept, so we will need another strategy.”

“If you’re sure it will work,” shrugged Caspian.

As they walked, they appeared on the shore of Ramandu’s Island, a little further away from where they had docked the Dawn Treader. The moon was now high in the sky and the gentle ripple of the sea caressed the sand like silk. Caspian and Ramandu walked a little further along the shore together. Caspian loved the feeling of the soft sand between his toes. It reminded him of the moonlight walks he used to take with Edmund.

“I know it will work,” said Ramandu, breaking him out from his daydream. “They need to know you’re alive. They need to know what they’re fighting for. They need to know their cause has a future.” Caspian nodded, and eventually, the two men slowed to a stop. Ramandu turned to Caspian and put his hand on his shoulder once again. “You two should talk,” he said, nodding to further along the beach. Caspian looked and saw Lilliandil standing there, her skin glowing in the moonlight, making her look more like a ghost than a star. When Caspian turned back, Ramandu had disappeared.

He walked towards Lilliandil, careful not to lose his footing on the sand, careful to stride forward with purpose. She stood waiting for him, her smile coy and charming.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening, your Majesty,” said Lilliandil with a gentle nod. “My father has informed me of the news. We are to be married.”

“If that is what you want?” Caspian half-asked.

“It is a great honour to be married to a King,” replied Lilliandil, lacing her arm through his and leading him further down the beach.

“I hope I will be a good husband to you,” said Caspian gently. “I’ve never been married before.”

“Have you been with anyone before?”

Caspian was taken aback by the brashness of her question but then thought it better to have everything out on the table now, whilst she was still able to change her mind than later.

“Yes,” Caspian said tentatively, unsure as to whether this would offend her or not.

“As is your right, your Majesty,” she said softly.

“It wasn’t really like that,” laughed Caspian. “It wasn’t my Kingly right.” Lilliandil was silent, and Caspian felt the need to keep talking to fill the empty space between their mouths. “I loved him,” he gulped. “It was a relationship.”

“And what happened to him?”

Caspian sighed. “I don’t know. But according to your father, I think I’m going to find out.”

Lilliandil nodded. “Will you go back to him?” she asked.

Caspian truly didn’t know what to say, so he thought he might as well be honest. “I would like to. But I would never disrespect you as my Queen.”

“My King is my husband, and my husband is my King,” she said gently, stopping and turning to him.

Caspian thought he should know what she meant but she had just entirely confused him further. “Have you been with anyone before?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No,” said Lilliandil. “I haven’t. But I have watched humans for many, many years so I think I have a general idea of what marriage could be like.”

“What else have you observed?” asked Caspian.

“Many men have been husbands, but not all husbands have been men,” said Lilliandil, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And I have a feeling you might be the best of them.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_Winterfell_

Peter was watching the comings and goings of the Winterfell courtyard from the window of his study. He’d had another sleepless night, wondering what it was he was supposed to do. He wracked his brains night after night, searching for the right answer, but he couldn’t find it. Doing what was right used to be so easy for him.

Miraz wanted him to bend the knee. He could go to Cair Paravel and do so but would probably be walking right into a trap to have him killed. If he stayed away and let the King’s demand fall into silence, then the pressure on Susan to keep the King happy would be too much for them both to bear. If he took his army forward to the castle, he and his men would be slaughtered, even with Edmund’s brothers at the Night’s Watch. But he couldn’t rely on them now, not with what Edmund had planned.

Edmund’s brother from the Night’s Watch had visited, giving Peter a note that Edmund had written himself, accompanied with a frozen hand that apparently belonged to Doctor Cornelius. Peter had almost been sick at the sight of it. In the letter, Edmund told him that he thought the presence of White Walkers beyond The Wall meant that the White Witch had returned. Miraz was plaguing the south, the White Witch, and her Walkers, the north.

Peter hoped that, for once, his brother was wrong, but in his heart knew that Edmund had a personal tie to the White Witch, stronger and deeper than any of them. It was actually written in his blood. Edmund would know in his gut about the Witch and Peter had to trust him.

Peter groaned. They simply didn’t have enough men to storm Cair Paravel without making it a suicide mission. He was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” called Peter, rousing from his thoughts.

The door opened and Eustace stepped over the threshold. Peter was surprised that Eustace was knocking, and not just barging in like he usually liked to do. This meant, he was sure, that Eustace wanted something, or that he was feeling guilty. Perhaps both.

“Your grace,” said Eustace.

“You don’t have to call me ‘your grace’ when no one’s around,” laughed Peter.

Eustace shrugged. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. Are you okay?”

Peter shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He handed Eustace the scroll which Edmund had written to him.

Eustace took it and read, his eyes growing wider and wider as the note went on. “Doctor Cornelius is missing? And The White Witch?” he gasped. “Surely not?”

“I know Edmund is right,” Peter said solemnly, walking over to sit at his desk.

Eustace nodded. “What can we do?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s a good question. One I’ve been thinking about long and hard.”

“I’ve been thinking too,” said Eustace, sitting down in the chair opposite Peter’s desk. “I think I have a way that I can help. We can sit here and make plans for as long as you like, but you know as well as I that we won’t beat Miraz until we take Cair Paravel.”

Peter nodded. “I can’t see any other way.”

“My father has men back in the Western Woods, men who know how to fight,” said Eustace, animated with his enthusiasm. “I’m his only living son, and I know that hear me out. I think he’ll agree to call the banners for Winterfell. We can’t rely on the brothers at the Night’s Watch, especially not now Edmund is having to take his men north to find Doctor Cornelius and fight the Witch and the Walkers,” he said, gesturing with the scroll in his hand.

“Perhaps I should go to your father?” asked Peter. “I don’t want your father to think I’m being disrespectful by not asking him myself.”

“No,” Eustace shook his head. “There must always be a Pevensie at Winterfell. I’m no Pevensie, I know that.”

“Yes but –,”

“Look, you taught me to be an honourable man, Peter,” said Eustace. “I can tell Father our plans, what we mean to achieve. We can avenge Caspian together.”

“We do need men,” sighed Peter. “But I don’t just want to run into another battle, not when we’ve scarcely recovered from the last one.”

“Do you really want to leave Susan in the King’s hands? And Lucy? I haven’t heard a word about Lucy,” cried Eustace. “What are we fighting for if not for them?”

“We’re fighting for the rightful claim to the Narnian throne to be restored,” said Peter, forcefully. “That is what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be a King and lead these people.”

“But you’re also a brother,” said Eustace, softly. “You are all of those things. It’s what makes you great.”

“It’s more complicated than that. You know it is,” said Peter, rubbing his hands over his face.

“You’re tired,” observed Eustace. “You can’t think straight when you’re tired. Let me do this for you, Peter. Let me gather the men, bring them to Winterfell, and then we can begin thinking about our next move.” Peter looked at Eustace deep in thought. “We have the space. We have the resources. You know this is the right thing to do.”

Peter nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you leave. Take your horse and leave at first light.” He picked up his quill and a roll of parchment, ready to write an official decree for Lord Scrubb to call the banners to Winterfell. Eustace got up, exhilarated with the success of his speech. Peter dipped the quill in the ink and then hovered over the page, looking up at Eustace. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Eustace nodded. “Yes, Peter. I’m sure,” he said, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. “It’s time for me to go home.”

*****

_Cair Paravel_

Susan stood on her balcony, watching the waves ripple against the sandy shores of Cair Paravel. She was growing bored, tired of the monotonous days either in her chamber or walking the castle. Back in the days when Caspian and her family ruled, she would go swimming, go riding, visit friends all over the country, she would write, play music, talk to people, laugh, and joke – but there was none of that here now. She was expected to just exist. To be there like a statue, awoken only by Miraz or Nathaniel for whenever they needed a pawn for their much larger game of the Narnian throne. Susan could see it all clearly now. She scolded the naïve and unassuming woman she was before the Battle of Shuddering Wood. How stupid and silly she had been. Living as a glorified prisoner had made her see everything for what is truly was, it had hardened her, she could feel it.

There was a knock at the door and Jill rose from her stitches to answer it. Susan came back into her chamber to receive whomever it was that had cared to visit her. Jill’s head was curled around the door, clearly inspecting her visitor.

“Who is it?” she asked Jill.

Jill turned her head to Susan but still kept the door close to her chest. “There’s a Night’s Watchman here begging a word. Says it’s urgent.”

“Edmund?” Susan cried, but then realised Jill would have recognised Edmund instantly. Her stomach dropped as Jill stepped aside and let the man walk in. Susan had never seen him before.

“Pardon me, my Lady,” said the brother with a bow.

“Did Edmund send you?” Susan asked hurriedly.

“Yes, your grace,” said the man. “I came here to deliver a message to the King, but he also wanted me to make sure I spoke to you before I left. Your brother Edmund, his blood runs black now, which makes him as much my brother as yours. It’s for his sake I rode here so hard I damn near killed my horse.”

“I’m very grateful of it,” replied Susan, wringing her hands anxiously. “What was his message to the King?”

“The cold winds are rising and the dead rise with them. A hand was found at The Wall, your grace. A frozen hand.”

“A frozen hand?” cried Susan.

“Yes, your grace,” nodded the man. “I have it with me, but I dare not show a Lady. Edmund says that it’s a sign of White Walkers.”

“Oh no,” said Susan.

“He also wanted me to tell you that Doctor Cornelius is missing beyond The Wall, and Edmund has gone looking for him.”

“Damn him!” cried Susan, her eyes spilling over with tears, pacing the chamber. “Damn him, always think he needs to be a hero. He learned that from Peter, you know,” she said to Jill. “When I see him, I’m going to strangle him.”

The man laughed.

“I’m sorry, is this funny?” asked Susan sarcastically, gripping the back of a chair.

“No, my Lady, I beg your pardon,” he said, composing himself. “It’s just, this is exactly how Edmund said you would react.”

As he said that, Susan started to laugh too, and Jill, and then the three of them were laughing and the horrible spell of hearing bad news was broken, just for a moment.

“So White Walkers and our beloved Doctor Cornelius is missing, what’s next?” asked Susan, sitting down in the chair, delirious from it all. “Any more bad news for you to tell me?”

“Well, there was just one more thing,” said the man.

“I was actually joking,” deadpanned Susan.

“Edmund seems to think that the person that has raised the White Walkers from their slumber is -,”

“The White Witch,” said Susan, finishing his sentence. “I knew the moment you said so. It has her written all over it.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I assume Peter is aware already?” asked Susan after a moment.

The man nodded. “Told him myself.” As Susan pondered, the man bowed to take his leave. “I must go your grace; I hope to get out of the capital swiftly. Tomorrow the whole city will know.”

“Know what?” asked Susan.

The man turned the door handle and pulled it ajar, the weight of his answer on his shoulders. He turned to Susan. “They will know that the ultimate threat has come to Narnia and we are powerless to stop it.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold Scrubb/Balon Greyjoy

**Chapter 15**

_The Western Woods_

Eustace had set off through the woods at first light, towards the Western Woods, back to his family’s homestead. He followed the Great River to where it split, then headed towards Beaver’s Dam, and as the moors became thick woods, Eustace knew he was reaching ever closer to the home of House Scrubb. He felt amazing, the gentle wind caressed his face and hair as he rode tall with a few guards of Winterfell at his back. He was finally doing _something,_ something to inch forward their cause. He had been itching for it for a long time now. Eventually, he arrived at the large wooden castle, which, at first glance, seemed entirely camouflaged. You could quite literally not see the wood from the trees. The outer walls of the castle were covered in moss and leaves, hiding it from people who weren’t looking close enough. Its turrets were as tall as the trees themselves, as Eustace looked up, relishing in the earthy smell he so desperately missed sometimes.

“Is it as you remember, my Lord?” asked one of the guards.

“It looks smaller, actually,” said Eustace.

“Everything looks bigger when you’re a child,” the guard said.

“Still, it’s grim and earthy,” said Eustace. “Always has been. It’s a hard place, the Western Woods.”

The guards at the gates eyed him suspiciously, and Eustace panicked for a moment that they wouldn’t remember who he was. He had been in The North a long time, after all. Still, they opened the gates and let him through into the courtyard, which was as quiet as it had been when he left.

“I wish to see my father,” Eustace said, dismounting from his horse and turning to a nearby worker.

Before the man could reply, Harold appeared at the balcony in front of him.

“Father?” Eustace half-asked, squinting up at the man. The sun was splintering through the gaps in the wood, obscuring his sight.

“Well, well,” Harold snarled. “Long time, no see.”

“I’ve returned, father.”

“You left a frightened boy. What have you come back as?” asked Harold as he walked down the wooden steps towards Eustace in the courtyard. He was a tall man, with long straggly hair that laid down his back like rat’s tails, and a jacket that was so brown Eustace didn’t know whether it was the material or that his father was covered in dirt. He looked just as Eustace remembered, only older, more wrinkled. Harsher. Harder. Harold stopped in front of Eustace and looked him up and down. He didn’t seem pleased. One of the guards came to lead Eustace’s horse away to the stables.

“I return a man,” said Eustace, trying to bolster himself up as much as possible, puffing out his chest. “Your blood and heir.”

Observing Peter as Lord of Winterfell had taught him a lot about what sounded good, what sounded grand, and how to speak to Lords of great houses. He considered House Scrubb to be one of the greatest, of course.

“We’ll see,” replied Harold, nonchalantly. “What brings you here then, boy?”

“I bring you a proposal from Peter Pevensie, father,” said Eustace, holding up the decree to Harold that bore the Pevensie seal.

“Who gave you those clothes?” asked Harold, who snatched the parchment from Eustace’s hand and turned his nose up.

“If my clothes offend you, I will change them,” said Eustace.

“You will,” agreed Harold. “The Pevensies have made you theirs.”

“My blood is strong and true, father,” replied Eustace.

Harold thumbed open the letter. “Yet the Pevensie boy sends you to me like a trained raven clutching his message?” he drawled, unimpressed already.

“The offer he makes is one I have proposed.”

Harold walked around Eustace in a circle, inspecting every inch of his son as he passed. “He heeds your council?” he asked.

“I’ve lived with him, hunted with him, fought by his side,” replied Eustace, trying to hold his head up high. “He thinks of me as a brother.”

Harold stopped. “No,” he replied, softly. “Not here. Not in my hearing. You will not name him brother. Of have you forgotten your own blood?”

“I forget nothing.”

Harold said nothing but read over the message. He closed the lip of the scroll, turning to the few workers in the courtyard who had all stopped to see father and son reunite. They hurriedly returned to their jobs.

“I see,” sighed Harold, as he looked back to Eustace. “I must destroy Peter Pevensie’s enemies for him?”

“I will lead the attack alongside Peter,” Eustace insisted.

Harold laughed bitterly. “Oh, you will, will you?”

“The banners have been called for house Pevensie. Peter is your liege Lord. I will lead them,” said Eustace, with a gulp. His confidence was wavering. “Father, I’m your only living heir.”

Harold handed the message back to Eustace. “How long do you propose to stay here in the Western Woods?”

Eustace shrugged. “Until a deal can be reached between us.”

Harold walked away and then turned back with a snarl. “You think you’re playing with the big boys now, don’t you? You fight in one war and think you’re the dog’s bollocks? You don’t have me fooled.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ll consider it. Unfortunately, Peter Pevensie _is_ my liege Lord and I owe him that much. Until then you and your men can take the hammocks in your old room. If you consider them family, you won’t mind sharing.”

And with that Harold stalked off back to his office, Eustace feeling like the exchange hadn’t really gone to plan.

*****

_Cair Paravel_

Miraz sat on his throne, deep in thought. The messenger from the Night’s Watch had given not much information, and Miraz was inclined to dismiss the whole thing altogether. But Glozelle, his Hand, was well-read and pressured the King to consider what the men at The Wall were saying. In truth, the frozen hand had been enough to convince anyone, but Miraz knew of the harsh winters in The North and put it down to nothing more than frostbite. Miraz had never heard of the White Walkers and didn’t believe in the magic of an army of the dead. If you were dead, you were buried in the ground and nothing more came of you. Witches and hags simply didn’t exist in his mind. Still, he thought highly of Glozelle, even if he believed in riddles and prophecies, and children’s fairy tales.

Glozelle sat at a small desk at one side of The Throne Room, where a Maester would write the King’s official decrees, but today he just needed space to think and write and be near to the King to talk him out of any rash decisions, which unfortunately was most of the time.

“Glozelle,” Miraz called to his Hand.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Glozelle replied, looking up from his books. A small pair of glasses were perched on the edge of his nose.

“Why are the White Walkers my problem?” he asked, his head lolling to where his Hand sat.

“What do you mean, your Majesty?”

“Well, the way I see it, the White Walkers are North of The Wall, so it’s a problem for the Night’s Watch, and if it’s not their problem, it’s Peter Pevensie’s problem, as he is Warden of The North,” theorized Miraz, his fingers steepled. “I am many, many more miles away from both. So why is it my problem?”

Glozelle sighed, taking his glasses off. “Because you are King, your Majesty. We delight in your divine rulings. Every decision you make must be for the good of the realm, for all the realm.”

“Ach!” Miraz replied in disgust, sinking further and further on the throne. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you.”

Glozelle went back to the parchment, his quill scratching away, making a dent in the silence of the serenity of The Throne Room. “Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Miraz cried. “It’s setting my teeth on edge!”

“Of course, your Majesty,” nodded Glozelle. “I was only here to serve you, should you need me.”

Glozelle got up, tucking his books under his arm, and stepped away from the desk.

“Go on then,” said Miraz.

Glozelle turned to him. “Your Majesty?”

“Tell me what you really think, I know you’re just dying to say it.”

“If the King commands it,” Glozelle said with a bow.

“I do.”

“You’re losing the people,” said Glozelle, without hesitation.

“The people?!” scoffed Miraz, which turned into a rapturous laugh. “Do you think I care?”

“I have considered it, your Majesty, that you might find it difficult to rule over millions who may want you dead. Half the city will starve, half the city will plot to overthrow you,” replied Glozelle.

“This is what it’s like to lead, Glozelle,” said Miraz, sitting forward on his throne. “You lie on a bed of weeds and you rip them out by the root, one by one, before they strangle you in your sleep. I don’t care if they hate me. I won the crown; it is mine by rights.”

Glozelle sighed. “Peter Pevensie will come for us sooner rather than later. His silence speaks volumes. And if he finds out that Caspian is alive then they will join forces. It will be the battle of The Shuddering Wood all over again.”

“They can try. Look what happened the last time,” said Miraz, gleefully.

“It is likely that Lucy Pevensie carries the knowledge that Caspian is alive, well and beyond the sea. If she reaches Winterfell, it will give Lord Peter all the encouragement he needs to develop his plans.”

“I’ve told Susan she needs to find her sister,” Miraz replied. “I’ve sent men out looking for her. What else can I do?”

“Nothing, your Majesty,” confirmed Glozelle. “You just need to be ready for what happens, and in the meantime, keep the civilians happy. You might need them in your hour of need.”

“Kings do not have hours of need!” spat Miraz, his hand clenched into a fist.

“They are going to attack us,” Glozelle said simply. “We need to be ready.” Miraz said nothing and mulled over his Hand’s words. “I need to know what you would like to do about Peter Pevensie and the White Walkers, your Majesty.”

Miraz sat back, the lust of gore dancing in his eyes. “Burn them to the ground,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Who?” asked Glozelle.

Miraz shrugged. “Either. I don’t care much either way.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Glozelle bowed and left the King to his thoughts. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_The Western Woods_

Eustace had been summoned to his father’s office the moment dawn approached. He knew he would be as Lord Harold barely ever slept, and Eustace wondered if that’s what made him so insufferable all the time. He splashed some rainwater on his face from the small leak that was in the bamboo guttering just above his window and pulled on his clothes, now quite roused from sleep. Sometimes he missed the feeling of early morning in the woods, where the air was so fresh and sharp that it stiffened your face, making the cracks on your cheeks widen. The sun was a beautiful golden colour, the danced through the trees as if playing hide and seek. Eustace could see it through the cracks in the wood, the shards of light making tiger stripes on the dusty floor.

His father’s study was dark and cramped. It had no windows and was more of a burrow than a room. Still, he was used to it. Eustace had been summoned there every morning as a boy so that Harold could tell him exactly what he was going to be doing that day. Target Practice, Sparring, Language Lessons, Calligraphy, Small Council Meetings, everything befitting a little Lord of a noble house. As Eustace bent his head to enter the study, the mucky, damp earth stuck to the ridges in his boots. It wasn’t all that different from Winterfell in some ways.

Harold sat behind the desk, in a great wooden chair that almost looked like a throne. Eustace had helped his father made it, being told one day it would be his turn to sit on it. Looking at his father now, he was frailer than ever before, and Eustace wondered just when his turn would be, exactly. 

“The plans are made,” Harold announced. “It’s time you heard them.”

“Father,” Eustace bowed, and said nothing, keeping his eye fixed on the wall in front of him and holding a military position that had been drilled into him since birth.

“If Peter goes south to fight with the entirety of his army at his back, The North will be ripe for the taking. Every stronghold will yield to us, one by one,” explained Harold. “Winterfell will defy us for maybe a year, but what of it. Eventually, it shall be ours.”

Eustace couldn’t believe his ears. His lips parted with a gentle gasp, his eyes falling to this vicious and cruel man. “Father, I know these men -,”

“Why are you so eager to protect them?” Harold asked. Eustace could see for once that his father was being sincere.

Eustace gulped. “I’m not protecting anyone. Why risk going against The North if they would be our allies? Rise up against them and they could destroy us. But if we keep our pledge to them, we can gain so much more. Perhaps more land. There is so much still untouched from Lantern Waste up to Mr Tumnus’s house and further. I know I can persuade Peter to give us at least to Cauldron Pool if land is what you want.”

Harold laughed. Eustace knew he was mocking him. “We take what is ours. Your mother’s blood makes you heir to Winterfell as much as that boy.”

“Peter’s father makes _him_ heir to Winterfell –,”

“Your time at the wolves has made you weak!” Harold cried, banging his fist on the table.

“I am not weak!” Eustace bellowed back. “I left to help Peter restore what was right for Narnia. I did the honourable thing! That is what I come back here in his name to do, and now you curse me for it? For being a man? I am far more honourable than you, father, Peter is my liege Lord and I serve him, and you damn well will do the same, otherwise, you might as well march to Miraz now and bend the knee to him.”

Harold got up. “I bend the knee to no one!”

“Will you give Peter the men, or not?” asked Eustace simply.

Harold sat back down in his chair again. “I’ll give you the men,” he said simply. “But I’ll give you the men I was preparing to send to The Wall. The thieves and rapists, the murderers, and vagabonds. I won’t be held accountable for their actions. You say it’s calling the banners. Tell Peter Pevensie whatever you damn like, but I won’t be sending my best men to a battle that has already been won – not again.”

“You’re weak!” spat Eustace. “I wonder how I grew up with a backbone. Don’t you want to see the rightful rulers of Narnia on the throne?”

“I’m through with fighting,” Harold confessed. “I have my land. I have my title. And I’m not going to piss anyone off who will try and take it away from me. When your mother died…” Harold trailed off and composed himself. “When she died, I swore I would do all I could to protect you, but now you’re grown I can’t be held responsible for your actions. You want men? Go and get them. Round them up by the dozens but I will have no part in seeing my son be slain by usurpers.”

“Father,” Eustace said, gently, feeling his voice crack.

“Go,” Harold said, looking away from him. “I’ve said my piece. Go back to your boy King.”

Eustace could barely hold himself together, but he did. “Thank you, father. I’ll make sure Lord Peter knows of your gracious contribution to the cause.”

Harold said nothing, still looking away from his son, and Eustace knew he would say no more. He exited his father’s office, walking through to the courtyard to collect the men.

*

_The Lone Islands_

Caspian and his crew had returned to the Dawn Treader to sleep, but Caspian missed the gentle rocking of the ship as it cruised along the sea so lay awake in his bunk listening to the sounds of the water with his window open. Eventually, he got up, stretching his arms so that they touched the ceiling of his cabin and walked over to the window. There, he sat on a nearby cushion, curled up and watched the waves dance in the moonlight.

He missed Edmund. He missed him so much that he had a physical ache in his chest. And now, with the prospect that he could be alive and well in Narnia, well, it made Caspian all the more worried about his upcoming nuptials. He didn’t want to betray Edmund. He wanted to _be_ with Edmund… but this was a means to an end, one that he needed if he was ever going to get back to Narnia… one he needed if he wanted a future with Edmund at all.

“Your Majesty,” he heard a voice whisper. Caspian looked around his cabin, but no one had entered. “Down here,” the voice said again. Caspian looked into the water and saw a naiad below. His water form was melting into the waves beneath him.

“Sorry,” breathed Caspian. “I didn’t see you down there.”

“No matter,” the naiad said, waving away a hand. “You looked troubled, your Majesty. What plagues your mind?”

“I don’t know where to start,” Caspian laughed bitterly.

“Can I offer you council?”

Caspian nodded. “If you think it would help, then yes please.”

“Can I join you?” asked the naiad.

Caspian cocked an eyebrow. “Can you come up here?”

The naiad rose out of the water, balancing on the crest of a wave and climbed through the window and into Caspian’s cabin. He thought that there would be puddles across the wooden floor, dripping into the hull below, but there wasn’t any. The water kept entirely to the naiad’s form, which resembled a muscular man that was entirely naked.

“Haven’t you seen a naiad before, your Majesty?” he asked, watching as Caspian studied him.

“No,” Caspian shook his head. “I’ve read about you, but not had the pleasure.”

“You will notice we are very similar to humans,” the naiad said. “Except made of water, of course.” Caspian nodded. “Tell me what is going through your mind, your Majesty?” asked the naiad, sitting down opposite Caspian.

“I am due to be married soon, to Ramandu’s daughter,” said Caspian.

“A star? What an honour.”

“I agree,” said Caspian. “I feel very privileged to be in this position.”

“But…” the naiad trailed off. “Your heart belongs to another?”

“How did you know?” asked Caspian.

“Like the stars, I study humans. I watch them come and go on their ships. I have seen many a forlorn sailor or two,” said the naiad. “But a marriage of convenience can be a happy marriage. You just have to know how the other ticks.”

“What do you mean?”

The naiad looked shy for a moment. “Have you ever been with a woman before?”

“Never,” said Caspian, shaking his head. “I have only been with one other. A man.”

“Naiads are very… fluid creatures,” he purred. “I could teach you how to make a woman happy.”

“I think that would help,” nodded Caspian.

“It’s really not all that difficult to making a man happy.”

Caspian eventually caught the naiad’s meaning. “Is it not… totally different?” he asked, pointing to his crotch.

“Yes,” laughed the naiad. “And no…” Caspian inhaled. “With your permission, your Majesty,” asked the naiad. Caspian nodded and the naiad shuffled closer. “You must always look into their eyes,” said the naiad, doing just that. “Love comes in at the eyes, does it not?”

“Yes,” breathed Caspian, thinking about Edmund’s chestnut brown eyes, as big and round as a new-born puppy.

The naiad linked his hands through Caspian’s, and he realised that the feel of the naiad’s hand was the same as feeling skin. Palm to palm, caressing the tender skin with the pressure, the naiad pushed Caspian back until he lay flat on his back. The naiad straddled him, putting his hands next to his head, and leaning over him.

“I don’t know if she will like being on top,” said Caspian nervously.

“You will make her like it,” replied the naiad, his voice dripping in a sultry tone. “She can’t not want what she’s never had.” The naiad sat up and put Caspian’s hands on his hips, rocking them back and forth, grinding on top of Caspian’s crotch. A moan escaped from Caspian’s mouth. Then, he sat up, swinging the naiad around onto the cushion so now he was on top. “Very good, your Majesty,” laughed the naiad. “You are getting the hang of it.”

Caspian sat back and thought for a moment. “I’m sure I could make her happy,” he said. “But I don’t know if I could ever be happy without him.”

The naiad sat up too, pulling his legs out from underneath Caspian. “Now, that’s one thing I’m not sure I can help you with, your Majesty,” he said. “That’s something you’re going to have to figure out all on your own.”

Caspian nodded, and the naiad kissed his cheek, jumping out through the window and back into the ocean, his body succumbing to the water and diving beneath the surface.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_Cair Paravel_

The dining room was quiet, save for the gentle scrapings of cutlery against plates. Susan never looked up from her place at the table, eating, murmuring noises of agreement where required and absorbing the conversation between Miraz and his family. Of course, nothing of any note was discussed, because even though they seemed to treat her as one of the family, she was still a threat to them, and had traitors’ blood, thanks to Peter’s ever-growing silence.

Miraz sat at the head of the table, with Prunaprismia at the other end. Between them were their two youngest sons, Isaac, and Benjamin, on one side of the table, and on the other side was Susan who sat next to an empty chair that was always reserved for Nathaniel. He never came.

Isaac was the same age as Lucy, comfortably out of their teen years, and Benjamin was just entering them. Unlike Lucy, the both of them were naïve, having spent most of their lives in the comfort of castle walls, unable to see the devastation beyond the battlements that followed Miraz wherever he roamed. Their childlike manners, which could be praised as innocence, showed how far removed they were from the horrors that trailed behind them. The baby, which Miraz had named Elijah, was in the nursery.

“When will Susan and Nathaniel be married?” asked Benjamin, swinging his legs underneath his chair with glee.

Susan’s eyes snapped up. Usually, everyone ignored her at the dinner table.

“Soon,” Miraz nodded.

“I’ll have a nice new suit,” Benjamin went on. Susan prayed he would stop. “One for the wedding and one for the feast. Your dress will be ivory, of course, as you’re the bride.”

Susan could feel the heat rising on the back of her neck.

Miraz looked over at her. “The Prince just spoke to you.”

The heat flushed to her cheeks. “Pardon, your Majesty.” She turned to Benjamin. “You’ll look very handsome. I’m counting down the days before I can pledge my love to Prince Nathaniel in front of everyone.”

She looked to Miraz, wondering if she had given a good enough answer but he didn’t meet her eyes and instead tucked into his dinner without another word.

After they had all finished, Susan wandered through the castle back to her room. She did so as slowly as possible, as it gave her the opportunity to, for once, be free. During this time, she wasn’t a hostage in her chambers, and she wasn’t under the watchful eye of Miraz. She was free to take whichever corridor she wanted, go in whatever direction and be alone in her own company, except for the Telmarine guards that lined the walls everywhere she looked.

As she turned onto the Southern Corridor, having gone all around the castle, she almost bumped into Prunaprismia who was coming the other way.

“Oh, your Majesty, I’m so sorry,” cried Susan.

“No matter,” said the Queen, brushing her silks down. She eyed Susan for a moment. “Let me escort you back to your rooms, Lady Pevensie.”

“Your Majesty, you honour me,” Susan gulped, wishing for just a moment of peace longer. “There’s no need.”

“Nonsense,” said the Queen, linking her arm through Susan’s. They walked in silence a few steps towards Susan’s rooms.

“Will Nathaniel be joining us for dinner tomorrow?” asked Susan, knowing full well he wouldn’t be. He never did. But Susan had no idea what to say to a woman she had barely spoken a few words to.

Prunaprismia sighed. “Nathaniel has always been… difficult,” she said in a quiet voice. “Even his birth, I laboured a day and a half to bring him into this world. You cannot imagine the pain. I screamed so loudly I was sure Miraz would hear me out in the wood.”

“Miraz was not with you?” asked Susan.

“No,” said Prunaprismia shaking her head. “He was hunting. That was his custom. Whenever my time was near, my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsman and his hounds, and when he returned, he would present to me some pelts or a stag’s head, and I would present him with a baby. Not that I wanted him there, mind you. Nathaniel will show you the exact same kindness as his father, or lack thereof. You may never love him,” she said softly, so no one but Susan could hear. “But you will love his children.”

“I love the Prince with all my heart,” said Susan, loudly. Not only to convince the Queen but also herself.

Prunaprismia looked at Susan, cocking her head to one side. “That is so very touching to hear.” Both women stopped as they had reached Susan’s chambers. Prunaprismia turned to Susan. “Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to keep them happy, keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice.”

“But shouldn’t I love Nathaniel, your Majesty?” asked Susan, playing up the doe eyes and the inquisitive questions.

“You can try, Lady Pevensie,” said the Queen, who turned on her heels and walked away into the flickering candlelight.

*

_The Western Wood_

Eustace sat at his desk, hunched over a piece of parchment, with a quill in his hand. The candle on his desk was the only source of light, whilst the rest of the guards he had brought from Winterfell slept in their hammocks dotted around the room. A candle was risky in a castle made of wood, and Eustace couldn’t lie that the thought of burning his father’s castle to the ground was appealing, especially after the way Harold had treated him today.

It was an understatement to say that he and his father hadn’t had the best relationship, especially after the death of his mother. Eustace couldn’t think about it, even now. It made his eyes and heart ache, and he didn’t want to be found sobbing, especially the night before he was due to lead men back to Peter’s aid.

Sometimes, Eustace wished that his father would die honourably so that Harold could join his wife and no longer feel the obvious pain of living without her. Cruel as it seemed, Eustace thought that his father having to live without her was even crueller. Then, in a twisted way, Eustace would be free to be Lord Scrubb and do things his way.

Eustace felt so cruel thinking that, but it would make his life a lot easier. He didn’t want his father to die, not really, he just wanted things to be different. But that would never happen, and Eustace had resigned himself to that fact a long, long time ago. It was part of his decision to go to Winterfell with the Pevensies. At least then he could try and make a life from himself away from his father, even if that meant that Harold was alone. Eustace didn’t really like the thought of him being alone, but it was sink or swim. And Eustace needed to swim. Harold thought he knew better, and Eustace, being his father’s son, also thought he knew better. It was a lose-lose situation.

Eustace shook the thoughts from his mind and read over what he had already written.

 _Dear Peter_ , he wrote.

_My father has agreed to send men with me back to Winterfell. He has called the banners._

Eustace stopped and screwed up the piece of parchment. Harold had not called the banners. Harold had given Eustace men from the prison, those awaiting trial, those in the Scrubb’s service that he didn’t mind losing. There was nothing honourable about this. Harold had not faithfully come to his Liege Lord’s service as he once promised he would. How could Eustace tell Peter that, even though he returned with the men, he had for all intents and purposes failed on his mission? He couldn’t, that was the answer, he could never tell Peter.

No, perhaps it was best he didn’t tell Peter they were coming. Besides, by the time he had written his message and called a raven, it would be nearly daylight and Eustace and his men would probably end up outrunning the message anyway. No, he should get some sleep. Being well-rested and ready for action was the best thing he could do for Peter now.

Eustace unravelled the piece of parchment that had scrunched up and laid it flat on the desk. He held it up to the candle, letting the corner of the scroll sit on the flame. After a few seconds, it caught alight and Eustace threw it onto the dusty floor, watching it burn into a clump of smouldering curls. As it started to burn out, Eustace stomped his foot down hard on it, smothering the cinders.

He walked over to his hammock and shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor where he stood. He unlaced his boots and stepped out of them, pressing his foot down on the heels of the leather to ease them out. There was no point dressing for bed properly as he’d be up soon enough. Eustace turned around, he sat on the edge of the hammock and twisted his legs in and laying down. He closed his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable. Every time he closed his eyes, Eustace could see his father and Peter’s disapproving faces. With a sigh, Eustace knew he was going to be in for a long night.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_The Owl Wood_

“We should stick together,” Lucy said to the boy.

He eyed her suspiciously. “What’s your reasoning?”

“Well, we’re going to look far less suspicious if two Telmarine soldiers are walking together. We’ll look like pages or cup bearers on a mission,” she said, beginning to walk.

“Fine,” she heard him say, followed by heavy thuds as he led his horse after her.

On their journey, they stopped often, sitting down to eat nuts and berries they found, to clean themselves and drink from streams and ultimately to rest, knowing that it was better to walk through the night when the woods would most definitely be deserted and using Lucy’s tree trunk tactic for sleeping during the day.

Both of them sat on the bank of a nearby stream, Lucy trying to wash the dirt and moss off her face from their latest tree nap, and the boy nearby practicing his fencing with a stick.

“You should stand side-face,” Lucy said, looking over to the boy.

“What?”

“Sideways, I mean.”

“Why?”

Lucy shrugged. “Lesser target.”

The boy snorted. “Who am I fighting?” he asked, gesturing around.

“You’re preparing for a fight. You should practice right,” said Lucy with a smile.

“Where did you learn that anyhow?” he asked, dropping the stick, and coming to sit next to her. Lucy said nothing, wondering if now was the right time to tell him the truth. The boy studied her for a moment and then sighed. “My name is Shasta,” he said. “I’m from Calormen. I used to be a slave, but I escaped with my horse. We rode through the country, into Archenland, then on to Narnia. My horse…” he trailed off, turning around to where the horse was grazing nearby. The horse looked up at him and Lucy could have sworn she saw the horse wink at Shasta. “My horse is special.”

“Did your horse just wink at you?”

Shasta laughed. “Come on, Bree. The game is up!”

The horse neighed and stamped his hoofs. “I was rather enjoying playing a dumb animal!”

Lucy gasped. It had been so long since she had seen or heard another True Narnian that tears sprung to her eyes. She turned back from Shasta. “How did you find an Old Narnian horse in Calormen?” she asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Bree, trotting over to join them. “And I’ll forgive you for calling me old. Just this once.”

Lucy smirked. “How long has it taken you to get this far?”

“Quite a while,” replied Shasta. “Bree used to be quite insecure, but the journey has hardened him.”

“Yes, and you used to be much more talkative until we crossed the border at Archenland. Being in Narnia has made you grumpy,” said Bree.

“Can you blame me?” scoffed Shasta. “Anyway, enough about us. What about you? Now that we’ve shared our truth, you know we are truly friends and don’t mean any harm. Besides, had we wanted to hurt you we would have had ample time by now.”

“Sorry,” Lucy shrugged. “Being in Narnia has made me a bit grumpy too.” she laughed, followed by Shasta and Bree. “The truth is…” she said with a sigh. “I’m Lucy of House Pevensie. My brother Peter –,”

“We know,” nodded Shasta. “He’s Warden of the North.”

“I hope he still is,” laughed Lucy bitterly. “My sister, Susan, and I, we were taken to Cair Paravel with Miraz. He wants to marry Susan off to his eldest son, Nathaniel. Susan can play the games of court very easily but it’s not my style. Before I left, Susan told me something, something really important that I need to tell Peter immediately. My brother, Edmund, he’s at The Wall. I need to tell him too.”

“What is it?” asked Shasta. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Lucy looked around, making sure no one was about but still didn’t trust herself to say it boldly. She beckoned Shasta and Bree closer and whispered to them both. “King Caspian is alive and beyond the Bight of Calormen.”

Shasta gasped. “Really?”

Lucy nodded. “It’s true. Miraz had a raven. He wanted Peter to pledge fealty to him… again. But Peter hasn’t done anything. I need to tell him about… you know who… before he makes his mind up.”

“Very wise,” Shasta agreed. “How did he survive?”

“I think I know,” said Bree, flicking his mane out of his eyes. “There are lots and lots of tunnels underneath Narnia. They were made by burrowing animals and stretch for at least fifty miles. I’ve never seen them myself, but I know a lot of animals wanted to make sure the land would withstand a siege and provide an escape if necessary. They may have smuggled Caspian out.”

“How did we not know about this?” asked Lucy. “Who would have organised it?”

“I don’t know,” said Bree. “That’s something to ask Caspian when he finally returns.”

“Hopefully, he’s planning something big and making his way back to us as soon as possible,” said Lucy with a sigh.

“I know he will be,” said Shasta, taking Lucy’s hand in his. “He wouldn’t take this lying down.”

“That is, unless, Miraz’s spies have got to him first,” replied Lucy, solemnly.

“Yes,” nodded Shasta, dropping her hand. “Yes, that is entirely plausible,” he said, his words hanging over them for the rest of the day. 

*

_Cair Paravel_

Susan had been summoned to The Throne Room again, wondering what it was she had done this time, or more to the point, what Peter hadn’t done. She really hated that Miraz was making a habit out of publicly shaming them at every given opportunity. Susan walked from her chambers towards the main area of the castle like she was a criminal walking to the gallows. It was a slow march, hoping that something would hold her up en route, or find an excuse to go the long way around. Unfortunately, she was being escorted there by the head of the Kingsguard himself, Lord Sopespian, probably so she didn’t run off like her sister had done.

The grand double doors opened, and Susan walked in, the edges of her skirt dusting the stone floor as she glided forwards. Instead of Miraz sitting, looking bored, on the throne, it was Nathaniel. His legs were splayed lazily, and he gripped the arms of the chair, looking thoroughly pleased with himself that he had managed to be able to sit on the throne without disagreements from the council.

“Your Majesty,” said Susan, gesturing to the throne. “Where is the King?”

Nathaniel sat up straight, and Susan knew immediately that what she said had been a fatal error. Quickly, Susan bowed low and obediently.

“His Majesty is out hunting, Lady Pevensie,” said Lord Sopespian from behind her.

Susan rose to full height. “I am happy to see you, my Prince,” said Susan, sweetly. “That’s all.”

Nathaniel ignored her and slouched back in the throne. “You’re here to answer for your brother’s crimes,” he said, looking exactly as bored as his father usually did. “He has still not responded to the official decree from the King.”

Susan gulped. “Your Majesty, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part in it. I beg you, please.”

“Enough,” said Nathaniel, looking down at Susan. “He disgusts me. You disgust me. He is a traitor to the crown. Enough to be beheaded for treason! But… killing _you_ would certainly send a message to Lord Peter,” he spat.

Susan’s heart rate quickened. She looked to Prunaprismia, who averted her gaze, then to Lord Sopespian who looked at her with a sad resignation in his eyes. “But…” Nathaniel drawled on. “My… advisors insist on keeping you alive. I can’t see why. You’ve been nothing but a drain on the crown’s funds. Peter obviously has no care for you otherwise it would be him in this room, bowing to me, and not you.”

Susan knew this was a lie. Peter did care for her. He always had. He was in the unfortunate position that he couldn’t prioritise his love for Susan over the care for his people. Susan knew that. She knew that when she crawled into Peter’s bed every night. She knew that when he sat at his desk night and day. The reason Peter wasn’t here was because he cared too much. Susan kept her face as impenetrable as stone.

“So,” Nathaniel said, getting up off the chair and descending the small steps to The Throne Room floor. “We’ll have to send your brother a message another way.” Susan’s eyes grew wide. She could see the rising wrath in his pupils, the one that Miraz displayed so many times. “Lord Sopespian!” called Nathaniel. The Lord stepped forward to Nathaniel like an obedient dog.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“You know what to do,” Nathaniel muttered gleefully to Sopespian.

Sopespian gulped. “Your Majesty, I am head of the Kingsguard –,”

“AND ONE DAY I WILL BE KING!” bellowed Nathaniel, enough so that Susan could swear the candlesticks were shaking. “And you will obey me then and obey me now.”

Susan could see Sopespian nod slightly and then turn to her. His face had fallen, his eyes were shadowed with regret already. He pushed Susan to the floor, who yelped as she hit the hard stone behind her. Sopespian loomed over her and raised his fist. Susan cowered, trying to shuffle away from him on her back, her hands up in defense.

“No, please!” she cried. “My Lord, I beg you!”

But Sopespian was under orders, and he knew better than to refuse Nathaniel. He pummelled his fist into Susan’s face, over and over again, and when her hands flew to guard her features, he kicked her in the ribs and stomach. Susan heard her rips crack under the weight of his boots, but she was far too winded to cry out in pain. As Sopespian dragged her into a better position to assault her, he ripped the collar of her dress that came dangerously close to revealing her breast to the court.

Just then, the double doors flew open. Susan could hear heavy footsteps on the stone floor coming towards her, thinking Miraz had returned from his hunt, and perhaps would get Glozelle to join in as well.

“What is the meaning of this?!” cried Glozelle, who approached and pushed Sopespian back, standing between him and Susan. “What kind of a man beats a helpless girl to the ground?”

“I was under orders,” Sopespian told Glozelle, nodding to Nathaniel who had circled around Sopespian’s assault on Susan, smiling with glee. Susan lay flat on her back, stars dancing on the ceiling above her, Peter’s face in her mind’s eye.

Glozelle turned to Nathaniel. “She is to be a Queen. Have you no regard for her honour?” he asked.

“I’m punishing her,” shrugged Nathaniel.

“For what crimes?”

“I’m a King, I can do as I like.”

Glozelle scoffed. “You will be a King. You aren’t one yet.”

“That sentence could get your head on a spike,” snarled Nathaniel.

Glozelle said nothing. He bent low and scooped Susan up into his arms. Her head lolled, dizzy with the movement, and laid it to rest on Glozelle’s chest, the cold of his armour soothing her already pounding head. He carried her out of The Throne Room and along the Southern Corridor towards her chambers. Once they were out of earshot, he bent his head low to her. “Tell me, do you want an end to this engagement?” he whispered.

Susan said nothing for a moment, just focusing on her intent to breathe. “I’m loyal to Prince Nathaniel,” she said meekly. “My one true love.”

Glozelle sighed as a guardsman opened the door to her chamber. He stepped over the threshold and laid her down on the chaise lounge. “Lady Pevensie, you may survive us yet,” he whispered, before calling for Jill to attend to her.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Outside The Western Woods_

Eustace had hardly slept, and so got up as dawn broke, when he heard his father’s men begin to gather in the castle courtyard. He reached over to every guard from Winterfell that snored in his chambers and woke them, ready for the ride back across the moors. Everyone at Scrubb’s castle was beginning their day, washing, sharpening, gathering, preparing, all cogs working in the well-oiled machine of the castle. Eustace and his men pulled on their armour, their leathers, their boots, adjusting their belts and swords. Eustace made sure he strode forward with purpose, ready to show these men his father had entrusted into his care who was in charge. The guards of Winterfell followed obediently behind him.

They descended the stairs into the courtyard, but as he looked around for the men his father had sent for, he could see they were already by the door, asking the guardsmen to open up. Eustace looked to his men.

“Come on,” he said and hurried towards the group of mercenaries as they walked out into the woods.

“Stop,” he commanded, but the men didn’t hear him. They were too busy laughing and joking. “STOP!” Eustace bellowed, following at a hurried pace. “Your leader commands you to stop!”

Eventually, some of the men turned around, and Eustace, being small and scrappy, managed to dart between them to the front of the crowd. There was a burly man in front, leading them forward, who also turned upon hearing Eustace approaching. “You’re the men my father has chosen to march with me. Welcome. I am your commander,” said Eustace.

“And where are we headed, commander?” asked the burly man.

“To Winterfell,” Eustace said proudly, puffing out his chest. “We are to join forces with my cousin, Lord Peter Pevensie. We mean to march south and reclaim the Narnian Throne for its rightful ruler. There’ll be spoils in it for you if you do your jobs well.”

The man scoffed. “And who decides if we do our jobs well?” he asked.

“I do,” replied Eustace. “Your commander.”

All the men laughed, and Eustace felt his face flush, hot with embarrassment.

“I have been marching on usurper scum since before you left My Lord’s balls, _commander_ ,” he snarled. “Don’t reckon I’ve got much use for your ideas on how to do it. Don’t reckon I’ve got much use for a commander at all. I’m thinking I can do the job of commander _real well_ myself. All I need are these men and a sword.”

“You could do that,” Eustace nodded, finding fire inside of him at the irritating words of the burly man. “You could take the men and head out on your own, but I will hunt you down myself, drag you back here in chains and hang you for a traitor.”

“Really now?”

“Really,” said Eustace. He turned to the rest of the men. “When we arrive at Winterfell you’ll be fighting for House Pevensie. Peter is far less agreeable than I am when it comes to calculating battle plans. You wouldn’t want to upset him.”

The burly man laughed next to him. “And if Peter Pevensie upsets me, I’ll cut his balls off and feed them to his direwolf.”

A few of the other men laughed too and as the burly man walked forward, everyone else followed him. The guards from Winterfell weren’t far behind. Eustace hurried back to them, mounted his horse, and darted off, determined to make sure he was in front. He had to lead the men. This was _his_ mission.

Having walked and ridden all day, night soon fell on them. They were very nearly at Winterfell, only another hour or so would do it but Eustace was exhausted. Even though he was on a horse he had been vibrating with anxiety all day. Peter needed to see that Eustace had proved himself.

“Let’s make camp here,” Eustace cried, nodding to the men who were carrying the tents.

“Why?” scoffed the burly man, who Eustace had found out was named Gam.

“Because I said so,” said Eustace. “I am your commander and what I say goes.”

Gam shook his head and began looking for firewood.

The men who were carrying the tents began pitching. “You,” Eustace called to some young-looking boys. “Go and find something to spit,” he told them. “A couple of rabbits.”

Gam was piling up logs into a vague triangle shape.

“It will be too wet to light a fire,” Eustace told him. “The ground is too wet. It always is near Winterfell.”

Gam ignored him for a moment and then piped up. “We have our ways of lighting it. Don’t you worry.”

Eustace bristled and then marched over to Gam, standing in front of him and his next log. “I don’t like your tone, Gam,” said Eustace, in hushed whispers. “You’ve done nothing but try to undermine me the whole way to Winterfell and Peter, your Liege Lord might I remind you, will not be kind about it.”

“Do you get _my Liege Lord_ to fight all your battles for you?” asked Gam with a snort. “And as far as I’m concerned, I was about to become a man of the Night’s Watch, so I have no _Liege Lord_.”

Gam bumped him as he passed, almost knocking Eustace to the ground but he managed to regain his footing. There was something about Gam that Eustace couldn’t put his finger on, apart from the fact he was an irritating twat. Eustace couldn’t think about it anymore. As soon as the tents had been erected, Eustace crawled into one of them and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

*

_The Wild Lands of the North_

Edmund woke up sweating, which he hadn’t ever expected to happen beyond The Wall. He had slept in his furs, shivering himself to sleep, not even the wine having warmed him. But now, he wanted to strip off, but knew, of course, that would be silly, to do something like that where the snow was up to his shins. He crawled out of the tent, onto the snow, where the wall of refreshing coldness hit him and pushed out any inch of grogginess he usually felt in the morning. Most of his men were still asleep, but Puddleglum was awake and brewing something by the fire in an old cauldron.

“Good morning,” said Edmund.

“Suppose it is,” Puddleglum replied.

Edmund sat down on a log next to Puddleglum, watching the cauldron bubble.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Edmund.

“I never do,” sighed Puddleglum. “Not anymore.”

“Last night over dinner you said you’d spent half of last winter beyond The Wall,” he said to Puddleglum.

“The whole winter,” the Marshwiggle corrected him. “I was north of Harfang when the snows came. I had to wait for the thaw. It took ages.”

“So, it’s possible for someone to survive out there on their own?” asked Edmund, thinking again of Doctor Cornelius.

“I wouldn’t like to say,” Puddleglum shrugged. “I’m a Marshwiggle. We’re built for things that are cold, wet, and damp. Men? Who’s to say?”

“The whole point of the Night’s Watch is that we go out during the day, chart the lands, clear them, making them habitable then return to The Wall to protect it at night,” said Edmund, as much for his own sake as Puddleglum’s. “We return. That’s the point.”

“So, you said last night,” Puddleglum sighed, spooning the liquid in the cauldron, and eyeing it suspiciously.

“Do you know anything about White Walkers?” asked Edmund after a while in silence. He hadn’t wanted to broach the subject before, in case it worried Puddleglum, but now he couldn’t get away with not mentioning it.

“Yes,” breathed Puddleglum, looking at Edmund strangely. “Yes, I know about White Walkers. Have you been reading Doctor Cornelius’s books again, Edmund?”

“I always do,” he laughed.

“Yes, yes, quite an inquisitive boy,” replied Puddleglum. “Far too smart for your own good, I must say.”

“I think the White Walkers are back,” whispered Edmund.

Puddleglum almost dropped his spoon in the cauldron. “Edmund!”

“I’m serious, Puddleglum,” he said. “We knew Doctor Cornelius was missing because his horse returned without him. We found a frozen hand too, and I knew I’d seen something like that before in one of Doctor Cornelius’s books. I don’t know where he is, but what if he’s been taken by the White Walkers. What if he’s been killed?”

“White Walkers get woken up, Edmund,” sighed Puddleglum. “They don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“I know that,” said Edmund. “I think the White Witch is back.”

Puddleglum jolted with surprise, sending his spoon clattering into the cauldron. “Blast!” he cried, trying to fish it out with another spoon. “You can’t honestly mean…?” he asked, trailing off.

Edmund nodded. “I’m serious. I can feel it. I know it. I know she’s back.”

“This is just you getting paranoid, Edmund. I know you and the Witch have history but –,”

“I know what I feel,” he told Puddleglum.

The Marshwiggle fell silent and concentrated on retrieving his spoon which he did so, burning the ends of his fingers in the process. Puddleglum plunged his hand into the snow to cool them off.

“If you’re right Edmund then this business with Doctor Cornelius makes everything much more complicated,” said Puddleglum.

“I know,” nodded Edmund. “Which is why I want you to come with us.”

“Come with you? North?”

“Yes, if you’ll agree.”

Puddleglum sighed. “I don’t know, Edmund.”

“We could use your expertise,” Edmund said. “And I’ve been naïve thinking that finding Doctor Cornelius was as easy as playing hide and seek.”

“The Wildlands are named so because they are dangerous, Edmund,” said Puddleglum. “Too wild for even the giants to withstand. It is quite the journey you mean to make.”

“Will you help us, please?” asked Edmund.

The Marshwiggle thought for a moment, looking down at the bubbling cauldron again. “I’ll come with you,” he nodded after a moment. “But not because I want to get tied up in White Walkers, and not because I love the snow. I’ll do it for you, Edmund. You gave us Marshwiggles a good life, when your brother reigned, I’ll do it for you.”

“Thank you, Puddleglum,” smiled Edmund.

“How about some spoon stew?” laughed Puddleglum, dipping a bowl into the cauldron and beginning to slurp.

“I suppose it’s the least I could do,” Edmund laughed, and followed suit.


End file.
